#claws of grief au

[johnny-but-emo]

do you guys think I should make a blog for like. A dumb horror au thingy

[rutadales]

the fun thing abt nfoe is it's taking the two characters who were left behind the most, grabbing there hands and saying, "but what if, this time, someone had stayed." what if they had someone who would have stayed. who would have helped, and loved, and cared. who would have put them first. what changes then

[arolesbianism]

Why must it be 3 am I found a rly good rabbit au Jackie song and I desperately wanna draw smth based on it but if I did that then Id be going to bed at 5 am tonight and Id rather not. You guys should go listen to ofelia by kiltro tho it's pretty good 👍

[machveil]

zombie apocalypse au? with König?

CW: zombies, zombie killin’, minimal, nondescript gore - it’s more focused on the characters than the zombies

Survivor!König whose been isolated in the woods for a year. the outbreak got bad while he was on a deployment and he got separated from his team. he’s a survivalist at heart, grew up escaping into nature as a child and well into his teens. he knew how to make a shelter - something sturdy and durable, built with thick logs and packed with mud. he doesn’t leave the forest often, minimal supply runs into small towns to scavenge for medical supplies and equipment

Survivor!König that’s only interacted with the undead for the better part of the past few months. he has no problem killing them, outpacing wandering corpses and overpowering them - he might be a couple pounds lighter from rationing his supplies, but König is still a beast. he taunts them, voice low before putting them out of their misery. he stopped feeling bad about killing them a couple weeks in, the mentality to survive overtaking whatever pity and grief he felt. he briefly ran into survivors early on, never saw them again. if König has any feelings towards other survivors in this apocalypse it’s a silent hope that they’ll live to see another day - pessimistic thoughts clawing at the back of his head that they’re truly gone

Survivor!König who wakes up in the middle of the night, a scream cutting through woods. he’s hesitant to go out, these current times unfortunately becoming a dog eat dog world. he expects that cry to fade out into the cool night air, but to his horror it gets louder. someone’s running in the direction of his makeshift cabin. he knows the undead aren’t strong enough to break down the walls, his door has a barricade from the inside, he doesn’t need to investigate. but, against his better judgment, he moves to open the door

you, he can vaguely make out your figure running in the dark, the sound of leaves and twigs crunching. faint groaning following you, it’s stupid. for all he knows you could be infected, running despite being bit or scratched, but König moves before he can think. despite his hulking size he quickly, silently, intercepts you - a rough, calloused palm slapped over your mouth. despite your panicked squirming he manages to drag you away, manhandles you back into his wooded home. barricades the door the shut as soon as you’re both inside, back to the door as he holds you. “Ssh.”, quietly hissing for you to quiet down, grip firm as infected pass by

[zarnzarn]

1/2/3/4

reverse Odyssey au where polites is still on the ships when Poseidon arrives, and that last bit is enough to push Odysseus to beg him to stop, to spare the men he spent ten long years fighting hard and bitter to save. 593 men is no less amount after all, not for a small island like Ithaca, only three generations old. he'll do anything, anything at all, blind him, torture him, kill him- just let his men go; they were not the ones to blame.

Poseidon considers, staring down at the king with the odd grey eyes that he knew the origin of. Athena would be furious, after all- so why not take away the one thing her favoured pet was known for?

the crew rushes towards their captain, their king, as shouting emerges from the other boats, as he hits the deck convulsing, grasping at his throat. the cries of his men rend the air as his legs melt into oceanspray, remerging as a fish's tail, Odysseus gasping for air wildly, his tongue a mess of mangled flesh on the main deck, unable to talk or breathe.

they have no choice but to pick him up and tip him into the sea, and they watch in horror as he falls beneath the waves and with a flick of the tail, disappears.

six hundred men chase their king down, following the odd silver glint that appears once in a while above the blue water, following the strange cursed monster that Elepnor sees when he falls drunk into the ocean one day. follow him all the way back to Ithaca, where the people gather on the shore to cheer their arrival.

telemachus is all of ten and untameable at the return of his father's ships, running past the guards and the priests to the dock, where the soldiers and heroes are all setting down the ramps, strangely quiet, unsmiling in the face of ten years of gore and bloodshed being done. Penelope catches up to him, laughing as she cranes her head up, scanning the ships to see which one- which one had-

she only has to time to see euroluchus' shame-filled tears and polites guilty devastation, feeling her heart slowly sink to the ground, when there's suddenly a splash and an outburst of screams and propped up on the dock is a man with a fish's tail and familiar curls and razor-sharp teeth and eyes that are solid grey. the soldiers cry out in horror and thunder down the ramps to them as the monster reaches out- and Penelope can't do anything, frozen, as it reaches out and places a webbed hand with deadly claws on her son's cheek, caressing almost; and her breath catches when it looks back up to her, and she knows the face as well as her own, knows the grief and fear and knows it is her husband-

Then the pounding footsteps from the closest ships and the guards behind reach them, and Penelope only has time enough to scream to stay their weapons, already shoving Telemachus behind her and reaching out to shield off any spears or arrows from battle-strung men who'd shoot first and ask questions later-

Instead she only feels the brush of cold skin under his fingertips for the briefest of moments and then she's caught up in a fisher's net, tangled and alone. More nets are thrown, men crying out for their captain with desperation and fear, Polites running straight past her and leaping off the dock to swim after him-

But her husband is a descendant of Hermes, and Odysseus is gone.

Penelope listens to the story that night and does not cry, sitting straight-backed in the face of her family sobbing around her, of the five hundred and ninety-three men staring at her with grief and guilt alike, of being the only widow in the kingdom. Pets Telemachus' wild hair and remembers his father's, and thinks.

"You have told me much," She says finally. "But I'm still to hear a single, solid plan."

The room rustles as all the heads swing to her.

"Plan?" Eurylochus says finally. Anger burns as soon she looks to him, but she pushes it down firmly- rage will not win her anything.

"Yes. A plan," she says, "To bring my husband back home."

Telemachus unfolds at her feet and stares up at her with a hopeful grin, echoed slowly on the faces of the men around the room. Penelope smiles back.

"My husband spent ten years fighting for his people to make it back home," She proclaims. "Let's wait at least that long before we give up on him, yes?"

The answering cheer shakes the walls of the palace and echoes through the streets of Ithaca.

[the-lucid-llama]

"TWIN WAYNE AU"

Just been thinking about an au where Bruce and batman ARE two different people and their brothers but it's like a black butler case with one being so sickly that no one know the other exist or can actually tell them apart [except ofc Martha and Thomas]. So like to protect each other they operate as an single entity. The Bruce we know does mainly batman related stuff and the sickly twin is now the party boi Persona and they swicth when one gets too burned out and or injured.

I also like to think they are the two extremes on a very specific grief scale. Bruce stops smiling very serious and doesn't want to feel love or believes that he deserves any type of happy emotion so he drowns himself in his duty as batman. While his brother doesn't want to grieve and believes that being sad is an insult to their parents memory so he ignores any and all negative emotions and drowns himself in his need to tend to Bruce and trying to "fix" others. Yes I want the angst that they are constantly butting heads over these extremely toxic view points. But too dependent on each other to separate or staying away from each other for long period of times.

Also imaging that any time someone is like Bruce Wayne is batman they both just pop up in rooms togther and the twin (who I'm calling Brutus cause I think it's funny) is like OMG is that batman can I like get ur autograph!! And just uping the himbo bit just to really play into their differences and that person is just like oof I'm gonna be the laughing stock of Gotham.

Brutus got the same training Bruce did and their pretty much evenly matched but he (Brutus) is more sluggish cause he is highly medicated ( like i said he doesn’t like feeling negative emotions)

One really angsty moment I've been thinking about is we Jason get killed by joker how Brutus decides fuck that that's my baby stops taking his meds for months and absolutely obliterates joker and buries him somewhere and make sure not even he himself remembers (ie he goes back to take his med but at a higher dosage) and even Bruce being the best detective tm he knows his brother did something but can't prove it and that causes more distant and resentment until eventually they spit and Bruce has to take the batman and "Brucie" mantle for awhile lol

Imma add more on to this but this has been clawing at my brain 🧠

[evilgwrl]

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Thirteen

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Allusions to panic attacks, excessive gore, fluff with Simon at the end <3

Taglist: @waves-against-a-cliff @echo9821 @beebeechaos @h3art3at3rr @johannxseb @cndy-l0v3 @nylluns @pomegranategum @tapioca-marzipan @dlishus05

Masterlist

I HATE THIS CHAPTER LIKE USUAL BUT I HOPE U ALL ENJOY IT

All you could feel was burning.

Your lungs were aflame, sucked into your ribs with every gruelling indent. Your thighs were worn down, almost skinned to the bone, oozing wounds of blood and puss pooling at your knees as you heaved, scraping past thorned bushes.

The trees felt alive, clawing at you with pointed wooden talons, the prickle of sharpened sticks tearing at exposed flesh. Swollen feet met tar, the eldritch smell of a metallic tang consumed you, rotting away in every sense as you panted.

Your skin was like leather, worn down and bleak as your body collided against the abandoned roads, the slaughtered sound of the walking dead nearing with every passing frame. The sight of them was familiar, only mangled now.

You weren’t sure what had happened.

All you remember is how it started.

The day was darker than usual, consumed by an epiphany of greying clouds. The rumble of thunder stalked your every move as you committed to your daily rounds, your heart smouldered by the grief that had caught up to you.

They had all smiled at you as they welcomed you with breakfast. Why did Gaz seem different? Was he ill? You shook it off with a smile.

Why did you shake it off with a smile?

Your stomach was hot now, a building sensation of nausea washing over you as you tended to your garden. You locked eyes with Soap, his own staring back with a darkened hue of blue, any surrounding white slowly turning into a bleak red. Was he tired? You would lecture him about sleeping earlier later.

You felt caged in as you entered the house once more, kicking off your over-worked shoes with a grunt as you headed for the sink, desperate to scrub off the caking dirt that stuck to your fingers.

Gaz was sweating now, droplets of milky residue working down his forehead as he coughed, spluttering into the palms of his hands. His skin turned a ghastlier shade by the time you faced him, his hands shaking before the rest of him followed suit, his body convulsing as it clattered onto the floor.

Your voice was mousy as you called out, your limbs plastered together as you overwatched Ghost press two fingers to his neck, chasing a pulse that wouldn’t come.

The timber that held the house felt weaker now, almost rotten, as it clattered under your feet.  It was crumbly, squeaking under you with every step as you heaved in what felt like mould.

Where was your gun?

You could hear Soap calling out to you, his voice nasally, almost inaudible as he choked on his accent before it turned to blood, his uvula dangling at the back of his throat with every metallic form of discharge from his lungs.

You were in your bathroom now, the tap running with what seemed like extra force as the drain clogged, murky water soon flooding the kitchen as you pounded at the door, rattling with the rusted knob. Your feet were drenched as you kicked in the wilted timber, the frame clattering under you as you climbed through the formed hole you had made, a wooden shard catching onto your forearm with a drag, a pained wince leaving your mouth as you clutched onto the wound.

Everything felt blurred, almost like you were stuck in slow-mo. You could feel Price’s shoulder under your fingers, his skin cold. Why was his neck bleeding? Your touch was soggy now, a familiar squelch sounding from under you as greying eyes met yours.

His grip was strong, holding you onto the breaking floorboards with every snarl, your skin tearing as you were pulled along wilted frames, the oak crumbling under your shoes as you cried. Price’s hands were at your stomach, clawing at the breaking skin with rotting claws.

You could hear your blood thumping as you kicked at his drooping frame, the bones in his legs tumbling into his ligaments as he clattered to the floor. You were dragging yourself to the door now, the grumble of corroding mouths swarming you as you trailed a bloodied path to your frame.

How did you make it to the forest?

The grass mocked you as you watched it die, the blades sphacelating with every step you took. Your hands were on your abdomen, clutching onto the open wound as blood spluttered, your grip pushing against the seeping organs that writhed against you.

Your vision had turned orange now, any welcoming colours forgotten as you pushed against a shrub with your shoulder. The sweet berries you used to eat now turned poisonous as you mewled into the air.

Your throat was closing in now, curling against your oesophagus as your hands pushed into your mouth, pressing into the back of it as you gagged, forcing bile across the ground as you heaved.

Why did you stop clutching your stomach?

You were on the road again. Your trail had gotten stronger as you skinned your knee against the blackened pavement. You felt your eyes close, fluttering to an abnormal silence as your lids ceased any light.

Everything was static now. Why couldn’t you open your eyes? Greedy hands pulled at your flesh, a searing pain moulting into your chest as festering digits tore at your insides, digging through your organs with a tug before holding them to degraded teeth.

You could feel them at your neck, tapping against your skin with uncertainty. Your mouth was parted open, the skin from your lips torn as you attempted to scream only to be consumed by one’s hand.

They were pushing down your throat now, scraping along sensitive walls. Your lungs were drowning, your nose heaving as you attempted to breathe before infested fingers held them closed.

Your eyes were open now, looking down in desperation. There was a strange indent against your chest, tugging and pulling at the veins that penetrated beneath the surface. You could see fingers now poking from inside you, rotting talons digging through the flesh before they pierced the exterior.

How were you still alive?

Greedy hands ripped at your ribcage, snapping your bones like measly twigs. It was red-hot pain everywhere. Your brain stopped thinking, overwritten by the intense agony that writhed through you.

You weren’t breathing. Your lungs were empty. They were mouthing something to you now, their lips consumed by gore. Why can’t you speak? Why can’t you hear? Hands were by your head, pressing along your scalp tenderly as bloodied fingers dyed your hair. Your eyes were wide, begging for sanity.

Your body was emptied now, the residue of beating organs trailed along the road. Your heart was spluttering inside someone’s stomach. Fingers toyed at your scalp, dragging along your forehead with a permanent indent.

You mourned the last of you, your brain repeating the words ‘you’re dead’ in a constant stream. Or was that your own voice? The faces around you were a blur now, their bodies melting into the tar as a swarm crowded you. Your eyes blurred as you took in the faces around you.

They were all you.

Your body was writhing against the sheets, a strum of sobs tearing through you as your teeth tucked into your lips, drawing blood. Simon was fast, his hands resting against the side of your head as he guided you back to reality.

Your voice cracked as you screamed out, shoving him away as you sucked in a breath.

“Sweet’art, you were having a nightmare, you’re okay. It’s just me.”

“S-Simon?”

Your voice was hoarse, stripped from all moisture as you pressed against your stomach, looking down at your perfectly fine frame.

“I’m sorry,” you mewled, finding your voice as you swiped the sweat against your forehead. The Lieutenant was harder to see in the dark, but you could make out the softness in his eyes.

“Don’t have to apologise. I get them too.”

Your brows raised momentarily before you smiled at him, holding your hand out as he grasped onto it. He paused for a moment before he held it to his chest. He was warm.

It was subtle but you could feel it. He could feel it too.

“When they used to get bad, I used to search for my heart and feel the beat. Reminded me that I was okay.”

“I can feel it,” you whispered, trailing your hand up his chest before it met with the apple of his cheek.

“I can feel you too.”

[matrixbearer2024]

Cruel

[Mr Bill Pines AU: Bill Cipher-Pines x Clifford(Stanford Reincarnation)]

Bill misses his husband and he can’t decide at the moment if this was Karma or just another mistake he’d walked into. Fate could be very kind, but it could also be a very cruel thing.

Inspired by a comic from @honeqq and I decided why not write something related to it! I need to write more stuff for them PLEASE-

Bill had to steel himself once more at the familiar chime summoning him again. He already knew who it was and had a few theories about the reason behind it. The real problem was that he didn’t know if he could take it anymore; each moment felt like a deep cut, with wounds left to fester as his heart battled his mind, tearing apart any semblance of sanity.

He had to mentally prepare himself for every encounter with the lookalike of his deceased husband, the imitation of a man to whom he had once given everything. Just being there was painful—the same voice, the same face, the similar mutation…

But he wasn’t the same man.

Taking a deep breath, Bill stepped in front of the impatient artist, who regarded him with mild annoyance. The artist was blissfully unaware of the constant struggle the god faced just to maintain a decent appearance. For some reason, Bill didn’t dare to explain this to him; it made it easier… sort of.

“Oh, finally. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show.”

Bill mused that someone must be pulling a sadistic prank, repeatedly putting him in this situation where every waking moment threatened to unleash the flood of emotions and grief once more. This man wasn’t the genius he had once loved. This guy wasn’t Sixer, no matter how similar they looked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’d call you ‘lucky’ number seven, but you’ve just been annoying. Of all the cosmic beings to seek guidance from, you’d think you’d pick one that hasn’t faded into obscurity.”

“You were the muse for this journal’s author, so I thought you’d be able to help me in some way, somehow. I think.”

At the mention of the journal, Bill wanted to shrivel up and die. It was the only one he hadn’t had a hand in writing. The others he had co-authored with his husband, but this one… this one had eluded him for so long, only to be found by… this guy.

He wanted to bash his skull in and scream.

Stanford was gone; that pill had been hard enough to swallow a thousand years ago. Fate just had to rub salt into that open wound. This whole situation was cruel.

“What’s the problem this time?”

“I can’t decide what I want to paint.”

The empty canvas the other man gestured to seemed to beckon him, the stark white void drawing him in and holding him in a vice grip. The triangle stared blankly at the vacant space; an idea flickered to life in his mind, but he hesitated to indulge it. What if he did? It would only unleash another wave of grief, a haunting reminder of what once was and what he had lost to the relentless claws of time and the cold hands of death.

Bill already knew this was going to be idiotic. He felt it in his bones—he was about to make yet another stupidly ridiculous choice. Yet, before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out. Regret settled in immediately after he spoke.

“How about this? What if you painted someone for me? A portrait.”

The reincarnation regarded him with curiosity and interest, and Bill felt an overwhelming urge to gouge out his lone eye at the sight. Don’t look at him like that. Don’t give him the same expression that once held so much love and adoration, the kind that had nearly drowned him. Don’t remind him of those memories. Don’t drive the knife in deeper.

“Sure, I don’t see why not.”

That was the amusement that haunted him: the ghost of a man he had once loved to his own detriment. Someone whose smile caused the edges of his eyes to crinkle with unbridled joy, someone whose gaze never wavered in love and adoration. It was a ticking time bomb to have chosen and loved a mortal; inevitable goodbyes lurked around every corner of his finite life. There was no telling how much time they had left together, yet Bill still felt like Stanford was taken from him far too soon.

What he would have given for just a little more time—one last kiss, one final “I love you.”

He was a god, yet he would have surrendered absolutely everything for just another moment with the man he once called a husband. His equal. His muse.

Bill had to turn away from the other man, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. He quickly blinked them back; after a thousand years, the grief was still overwhelming. It felt like just yesterday he had been in the arms of his lover, and now that love and comfort were nowhere to be found. The ache in his heart throbbed and pounded, emotions turning him soft. What a useless god he’d become. What was once a pleasant feeling had morphed into crippling sorrow.

“If you don’t mind me asking, though… who is it that you want me to paint?”

That was a loaded question, burdened by the lament and grief of a thousand years—a love lost to the hands of time and the embrace of death. The one plane of existence where Bill couldn’t follow. Not as he was. Not when he didn’t have the ability to die. The sickness of an immortal, truly.

“Someone important to me. My muse.”

“You have a muse? Wow. They must be someone incredible.”

Bill could only let out an empty laugh. Stanford was incredible—more than he could ever dare to articulate. Words simply wouldn’t do the man justice; to have a god fall to his knees out of love was an immeasurable feat. The triangle always believed his lover was a force to be reckoned with, a powerhouse and then some. Yet, the relentless sands of time eventually wore him down. Even Stanford's brilliant mind, which had endured so much, couldn’t escape the inevitable; the grim reaper came to collect his dues.

No mortal was spared from that fate.

“Yeah. He was .”

The pain that bled through the triangle’s voice didn’t go unnoticed by the artist, despite his attempts to conceal it. However, the artist chose not to mention it, believing it was best not to pry. After all, it wasn’t his place to interfere; why would he?

Bill cleared his throat and floated up to get a better look at the empty canvas. Every instruction was clear and concise, every requested stroke of the brush executed with intention and purpose. The triangle’s close guidance and precise descriptions of each detail left no room for error; there were simply no mistakes.

As the painting began to take shape, colors and pigments blended seamlessly, crafting an image clearer than crystal. Gradually, the likeness of a man emerged—one with silver hair and a gentle gaze, complemented by a smile that reached his eyes, eyes that radiated immense love and adoration. It was evident that the painting captured an intensely intimate moment; such an expression was not meant for just anyone. Only someone so deeply loved and cherished could inspire a face like that. Only someone who felt eternally young could carry the weight of age with the wonder and joy of a child. The painting became a living juxtaposition.

The artist dropped his paintbrush in surprise; the painting looked so… alive. Under Bill’s guidance, this project had transformed into one of his best works. He couldn't help but wonder if its resemblance to a self-portrait was purely coincidental—an unnerving mirror he had created hour after hour, stroke after stroke, with immense specificity from the triangle beside him. However, the longing gaze from Bill toward the smiling subject made things clear. That action alone spoke more truth than any words they had ever exchanged. Yet, despite the painstaking effort poured into this piece, his eyes were inevitably drawn back to the final product.

It felt… familiar somehow, as if he knew this man, perhaps having met him somewhere before, despite the artist's certainty that he never had.

What was this sense of déjà vu?

The painting was beautifully crafted, distinctly unreplicable, particularly within the eyes of this man, which overflowed with mirth and fondness that clearly belonged to a lover. The expression he wore embodied the true essence of being loved, the purest depiction of happiness.

How had Bill even known about this? Not to mention in such explicit detail…

“Bill—”

“You have your painting, I need some time to think.”

The triangle’s voice trembled with overwhelming emotion, cracking under the weight of his grief. He couldn’t bear to look at the painting any longer. He turned away, unable to face either the finished work or the living, breathing human who looked so painfully similar to the man immortalised in the portrait. Every glance at the painting drove the knife in his chest deeper.

He had been right—this was a stupid idea.

“Just summon me again when you need me,” 

Bill muttered, his voice barely holding together. And with that, the god vanished before the artist could even respond.

Back in his original resting place, hot tears spilled from his lone eye as the grief he’d kept buried for so long finally poured out. The triangle broke down into uncontrollable sobs, curling up against a nearby wall, shivering as anguish consumed him. An agonised scream tore from his chest, shaking the very room. It was a miracle he had managed to stay composed for as long as he had.

Maybe he had wanted to see Stanford again—wanted to remember a happier time, to recall a memory frozen in place. The face of his husband, the man he had loved so deeply. But that love was now buried beneath a thousand years of pain and loss, an ache that had festered beyond measure.

Bill Cipher couldn’t move. He stayed there, weeping through the day, letting the weight of eternity crush him.

If he was truly fated to cross paths with that reincarnation, there was only one truth left.

Fate was just so cruel.

Fic is here as well on Ao3!

[vi-visected]

this is such an unfair question and you know it

who is the best aimsey character variant

[johnny-but-emo]

ok y’all semi-important question

[borathae]

"You and he aren't supposed to fit so well together. You aren't supposed to work and yet somehow destiny seems to tie you to him tighter and tighter. Will you be able to cut the string of fate before the knot gets tight enough to suffocate or will you accept it and allow yourself to entangle with him?"

Pairing: Queen!Reader x Knight!Jimin

Genre: Forbidden Love!AU, Fantasy!AU, Childhood Friends to Lovers!AU, Romance, Smut

Warnings: fluffy moments are sprinkled in between, but also angst :(, so much yearning, secret kisses & secret meetings, multiple smut scenes where one is more detailed while the others are implied-ish, she's fighting her feelings for him, he loves her so much, death, grief & guilt, the tension!!!, i'm clawing my skin off i fucking love yearning and forbidden love, consumption of alcohol, oral (m. & f.receiving), indications that she jerks off with his sword handle, strength kink, body worship, sex in nature, semi-public sex, the next warnings are for the detailed smut: sub!Jimin, Dom!Reader, sex in a broom cabinet, mutual stripping, desperate making out, handjob, he kneels as he gives her sloppy head, she pins him against a shelf, and rides him on the floor, he's sensitive and needy, fuck besties they need each other so bad, cumming too soon ehehe, this has a happy end!!!!!

Wordcount: 23.9k

a/n: i blame you guys for making me suffer. you fucking begged me for more knight!jimin and therefore gave me PAIN i am not oKAY OMFG them them them 😭 i don't think i'll ever shut up about them and their bond and the fact that they've known each other since childhood fndnafn have fun besties, this is so fndnfnasnf 🖤

~ To Prologue ~

His gasps are the loudest thing in this silent night. He tries not to make any sounds, but it is difficult when your touch drags pleasure to his skin.

“Mine. All mine”, your whispers are quieter than his gasps, swirling against his length before your warm mouth replaces them again. 

“Please”, Jimin begs, feeling his knees buckle as his senses begin to blur.

You ambushed him tonight. One of your queendom’s viscountess hosted a dance in her castle today and you visited it with your most trusted members of the council. Jimin escorted you as well. As your Queen’s Guard and nothing more. The dance was a two edged sword. You had incredible fun, the food was delicious and wine plenty but the knowledge that you couldn’t even steal as much as one dance with Jimin laid a sad blanket over the evening. And so you danced. You danced with everyone but Jimin, whilst having to resort to sneaking longing glances at the dark haired knight. Glances he retorted with just as much longing in his beautiful eyes.

You arrived back at your castle late into the night. Drunk on wine and good dance, but also burning up in yearning for your knight. And so you visited him in his chambers once your servants helped you get ready for bed and the castle was asleep. 

Jimin came out of his bathing chambers when you ambushed him. He wore nothing more than a drying cloth around his hips and pearl necklaces around his neck, while his black hair was pushed out of his face. You kissed him right where he stood, pushing him until he collided with his dresser and you could touch his every inch. 

“I need to have you”, you sighed against his lips. 

“I need to have you as well, my Queen”, he allowed you and while he believed the night to bring the taste of your cunt, you proceeded to worship every inch of his sculpted torso. With your fingers, your palms, your lips and tongue. You traced every outline, kissed every scar, licked the spots most sensitive and left marks where he arched his back the most. He will trace the marks once he is alone in his chambers and you weren’t with him.

And Jimin felt weakened in pleasure, barely keeping himself upright when you proceeded to fall to your knees, take off the drying cloth and worship his aching length. 

“You taste so heavenly, oh Jimin”, you moan as you abandon his length for the sake of worshiping his heavy balls. Your hand is busy jerking him. He is so wet already, pulsating in your hand. 

“Oh- it, it feels so good ah”, Jimin moans squeakily, scrunching his face, “my Queen...”

It hasn’t been long since you fell to your knees, but Jimin is already grasping the edge of the dresser for strength. He hasn’t experienced such untamed hunger from you before. Such gluttony for his length. It is difficult to handle for someone as sensitive as your beloved knight.

“Please, I will soil you please”, his voice is breathy in ruin, his eyes are glassy as they look down at you, “please, you have to slow down. Ah please.”

His begs have the opposite effect on you. Instead of giving him a break, you take him into your mouth until his groomed hair tickles your nose and he throbs in your tight throat. 

“No I-”, Jimin whimpers and throws his hand over his own mouth to muffle the loud moan escaping him as you force him to climax down your throat. He throws his head back, squeezing his eyes shut as pleasure courses through him. His knees buckle and make him stumble. If he wasn’t that strong, he would have crumbled to the floor. 

It isn’t often that you are the one on your knees. But tonight you were drunk, jolly from dance and starved for him. He didn’t wear his usual armour tonight. He dressed in leather attire adorned with your queendom’s symbols and wore a pale, silken shirt underneath. He topped it off with pearl jewellery and his sword and styled his hair in a noble way. Truly, every second spend with looking at him was agonising paradise and turned you into the hungry woman you were right now. 

You slip off his length as he whimpers for a break, finding your heaven by kissing his hard abdominal. It is sculpted from the strenuous training your Queen’s Guards have to do daily and ripples under your lips as he fights for air.

“This was incredible”, you moan, swirling your tongue over his lower abs. You are panting and gasping with him, looking up at him with love drunk eyes, “you are the sweetest thing I tasted tonight.”

Jimin swallows heavily, meeting your gaze. His heart swells. He grabs your face and pulls you to your feet, claiming your soiled lips in a passionate kiss. His tongue tangles with yours, feasting on his lingering taste like a starved animal. Seconds later, your feet leave the ground as he lifts you to carry you to bed. Even more seconds later, your dress is lifted up and his length is breaching you as he rocks his hips into you in a desperate rhythm. 

The only thing which keeps the castle from knowing what was happening, are the passionate kisses you share. Otherwise you would be way too loud. 

Jimin is part of your life. It began when thirteen full moons ago, you claimed his innocence and loved him passionately for a night. Since then, he began trickling into your life more and more. You invited him to your bedroom more and more under the guise of wanting his services, which most nights ended in his length deep inside you. You began sneaking to his bedroom more and more and at first, you always left after the fun ended, but then those nights where you stayed with him began. And after that, the nights where he stayed in your bed began. 

And while you should have stopped it then because it reached levels such a secret should have never reached, you didn’t stop. You kept going. And so you kept going until one night, Jimin stood by your door in nothing but his sleeping clothes and he asked to have you. He asked for the first time since you began this forbidden love affair. And while you should have send him away and ended it because it had become something too much, you dragged him into a kiss and allowed him to have you. And he stayed the night. 

That is when the secret became something which never should have happened. You continued to visit him and Jimin began visiting you more and more. You stayed the night, he stayed the night and then one faithful morning, you woke up with him still next to you. Until this point, you and he had always made sure to sneak away before the other – and most importantly, the castle – woke but not that morning. He stayed with you, meeting your gaze as you opened your eyes for the new day. And he gave you a smile, cupped your cheek and whispered that you are the most beautiful person on earth and then he kissed you. 

And you kissed him back eventhough you should have sent him away and ended it. You and he became a secret so forbidden and yet you didn’t send him away.

Jimin stays with you tonight. Your bodies were spent and your dress has found its new home on the floors. You are on your stomach, propped on your elbows and covered by the blanket as you look up at Jimin. He is returning from his small dining table with two jugs of water, climbing back under the warm sheets.

“Thank you”, you accept the water, drinking it gladly, “I felt truly parched”, you say, handing him the half empty jug. He discards it on his nightstand, placing his own jug next to it once he took a healthy sip.

“Yes, I felt the same”, he says and shimmies under the blanket. He rests on his side, propped up on one elbow and with his head supported by his hand. He places his hand on your lower back, rubbing circles on your skin, “it’s not often that you ambush me in such ways”, he says with a smile that reaches his eyes. His damp hair is terribly tousled, his soft cheeks flushed. He looks so beautiful after sex. You could look at him for hours.

“I feel no shame in what I did tonight. The dance was agony. All I wanted was to dance with you and you looked so dashing in your clothes that I almost made a whore of myself in the middle of the room.”

“Oh heavens”, he flusters, letting out little giggles as he throws his head back. He covers his mouth with his hands, speaking in a higher voice, “don’t say such things.”

“I am truthful”, you laugh.

“Oh, I’m aware that you are”, he says, leaning in for a gentle kiss to your temple. You lean into the kiss with closed eyes, feeling utterly calm in his presence, “you looked beautiful as well. I wanted to steal you away from all others.”

You giggle, “you talk the sweetest things.”

Jimin chuckles, nuzzling his face against yours to begin kissing you.

“Mhm and you talk the most indecent of things”, he coos, tickling your face gently as he nips on your cheek.

“Jimin, please”, you squeal and moments later, you are on your back while Jimin attacks your face with loving kisses and shares in your giggles.

There is this tree not far outside the capital’s walls. It wasn’t really alive, but it also wasn’t really dead. All its branches were bare, except for one which climbed high enough to reach the light. One has to walk a narrow path along the cliff side, find their way through a cave and climb natural stairs down until one reaches a small plateau in the high cliffs to find it. It is a secluded spot, only the sea and its birds are witness to what happens there. It is the middle of the day and Jimin is beneath you with his mouth latched onto your heat while you stroked his length. You left the castle for a walk and because Jimin was your most trusted guard, he escorted you to keep you safe. At least that is what you let the court believe. You held his hand the second you entered the cave and haven’t let go of it since then. Well, until you couldn’t take the yearning any longer and began kissing him with the sole purpose of connecting with him in the most pleasurable of ways.

“Oh this feels so good. Ah Jimin”, you moan, arching your back as his tongue laps at your heat eagerly. He growls against you, rolling his hips into your touch as he chases the pleasure you bring him.

It has been a few weeks ever since you last touched each other. The night after the dance was long ago and since then, you weren’t able to be with one another again. Your husband returned from his travels, bringing stories to tell, clothes to try on and foreign foods to taste. And so you had to pretend to be a wife most delighted to see him, while Jimin had to pretend to be nothing more than your guard. Your husband didn’t sleep in your bed, but he stayed in your chambers long into the night, telling you stories of his adventures or fulfilling his duties as your husband. He wasn’t terrible and knew not to touch until you allowed him, but he also wasn’t Jimin. That is all the knowledge one needs about this topic as you didn’t truly want to remember the nights with your husband. Yes you allowed him, but you only did so because you feared that if you didn’t at least pretend to want him, he would grow suspicious about how you could go so long without a touch and not be starved for it. And so you shared intimacy with him, finding your release only once you began thinking of Jimin.

Other than the nights of duties you had to share with your husband and having to push away Jimin, having your husband back at the castle wasn’t terrible.

You and he are good friends after all and you always shared wonderful conversations with each other. He also knew how to make you laugh and brought many books filled with stories about foreign cultures. You enjoyed learning about other cultures, so his presents were truly appreciated by you.

Once the sixth week passed, your husband left again, taking his favourite ship to sail east. He promises to return by spring and you told him to be safe and to come back bearing wonderful stories and books filled with knowledge. You kissed him goodbye and he told you that he would write to you the moment he had a quiet moment to himself and then you stood by the shore until his ship was but a small dot on the horizon.

Frigga, your advisor, was with you, as was a small group of the court, some guards and Jimin as your personal guard. You turned to him once your husband’s ship was gone.

“I want to take a walk to clear my heart of the agonies of seeing my beloved leave”, you lied and gave Jimin a look.

“Shall we come with you, my Queen?” Frigga asked.

“No, I want to be alone with my thoughts”, you told her and left the shore.

Jimin followed you and nobody in the court questioned it because he was your personal guard after all, meant to tail you like a shadow and keep you safe. It was truly the perfect disguise to keep the truth hidden. That you left so you and Jimin could finally catch up on six weeks of distance and that you couldn’t wait for the moment your husband’s ship disappeared on the horizon.

“Jimin! Now!” you gasp, throwing your head back as his tongue pushes you over the edge.

He moans into you, intoxicated by your high and charmed by your touch, he finds his own release in the palm of your hand.

Jimin wasn’t always part of the Queen’s Guard. Only a handful of knights will have the honour of serving you in their lifetime. Selected by you and with hard training keeping them strong, the Queen’s Guard is truly a small yet mighty group of knights. 

Jimin became leader of it seven full moons ago. Not only because he was a capable and strong warrior and he proofed himself worthy of such a position, but also because being your personal protector, and the leader of the Guards, meant that people would ask lesser questions about why he was always leaving your chambers or following you to secluded places. After all, you and he must be talking strategies in your chambers and he most definitely follows you to keep you safe. Truly the court was a credulous bunch.

You roll off of Jimin, lying down on the ground beside him. It happens naturally that Jimin stretches out his arm so your head wouldn’t touch the dirty ground. You rest on it comfortably, looking up at the high cliffs. A rock overhang hides the sky from your eyes. The harsh, salty air of the sea made it so that over thousands of years the black rock became dark grey in colour. 

“You truly feel like no other”, you say, “I feel breathless.”

“Yes, I feel breathless as well”, Jimin says as he rests beside you with closed eyes. 

You turn your head to study his features. It is as if every single inch was sculpted by magic. His proportions are perfect for his face. He is so beautiful. 

“I missed you, Jimin.”

“I missed you as well”, he says and turns his head. He looks into your eyes, smiling softly, “you look ruined.”

“Do I? I feel ruined”, you say and laugh.

Jimin laughs with you, reaching out to brush your cheek with his thumb, “I love when you look this way.”

You draw closer to him until your head rested on his upper arm and you could steal a kiss. 

“Mhm”, Jimin smiles into the kiss, stubbing your nose with his own.

“I feel so lucky that he will be gone till spring. Eight months, Jimin. We will be able to do so many wonderful things during this time.”

“I know. I’m excited.”

“Yes, me too.”

You fix your head so you could look at the rocks again. Jimin does the same, smiling to himself as you reach up to hold his hand.

You share a few moments of silence until suddenly you break it with chuckles.

“Why are you laughing?” Jimin asks.

“Oh, I was just thinking.” 

“Tell me.”

“I was just thinking that I can be lucky to have such skilled sorceresses in my castle. Imagine if they didn’t use their prevention magic on my belly. Oh Jimin, we would be producing children like rabbits.”

Jimin laughs, “you think of such crude things, my Queen.”

You giggle, “I know, oh I know. I’m terrible. I can’t help it. I always think of you and what we did.”

Jimin rolls to his side, pulling you into a gentle forehead kiss. 

“I think of you as well. Most of my days even.”

You giggle, seeking his closeness, “oh Jimin, you are wonderful.”

He rubs his hand up and down the back of your head.

“It saddens me that I can’t share my stories with Frigga.”

“It doesn’t sadden me. Don’t make me an indecent man in front of her”, Jimin jokes, making you laugh.

“Oh you”, you nudge his chest, “I wasn’t speaking of our intimacies. I just meant that I find it saddening that I cannot tell her how happy you make me”, you look up into his eyes, “and that I think of you every waking second.”

A sense of sadness washes over Jimin’s face as quickly as a wave crashes the shore. A smile replaces it.

“I know”, he whispers, tracing your brow with his fingertips, “it is already enough that you and I know”, his eyes fill with insecurities, “isn’t it?”

“Yes. Yes, of course it is enough”, you say and lean in for a kiss.

It has to be enough.

“The Queen Consort is dead! He is dead!”

It was a sunny day when the news reached the castle. You enjoyed the ray of warm light in your courtyard, playing card games with Frigga and your maids, when a messenger interrupted the peace.

“He is dead”, he wheezes with tears in his eyes, “the sea took him. Him and his crew! He’s dead!”

It was a sunny day when the funeral happened. There wasn’t much of him to say goodbye to. Only pieces of his ship and a small heap of books survived. They washed up on the shores and at first you didn’t want to believe that they belonged to his ship. Until your guards found two members of his crew. Their bodies were bloated from the waters and their eyes were already missing from their sockets. Animals must have gotten to them.

Their funeral was held two days after.

It is sunny. It is blinding your eyes. It hurts. You cried all night. And the night before. And all day when the news met you. It has been sunny since. You hate that it is. How dare the sun shines when life is so cruel.

It is custom in your Queendom to give a dead beloved a sea burial. The body was sent out on a wooden boat with food, drink and riches for a safe journey to the afterlife and then the best archer will light an arrow and sent it straight to the boat to set it aflame.

Your husband can’t have such a burial. An empty boat with useless riches and food is sent from shore. You are tasked with shooting the arrow. You light the resin soaked tip and draw the bow. You let go. The arrow flies fast and misses.

The people stay silent, but the humiliation is there in your heart next to the paralysing grief. Most of your queendom is standing by the shore and watches you. You feel useless now that you missed.

One of your servants hands you a new arrow wordlessly, avoiding your eyes. You light it, draw the bow and miss again.

The same servant hands you a third arrow. The boat is getting further and further away. You force down a sob and try again. It misses.

The first whisper sets off a choir of whispers. It isn’t your fault. The sun is too bright and your heart aches too much. You have no strength in your arms. Why are they whispering?

Another arrow is handed to you. You light it with shaking hands and try to draw. The string barely wants to budge. The boat is far away. The whispers grow.

“She won’t do it.”

“She’s not strong enough.”

They don’t know that you can hear them, but you can. You struggle with holding the string, but you have to draw more. It is so difficult to do.

“Her husband’s already died at sea without proper burial and now she can’t even send him off.”

You fight for air and lower the bow. The gasps are deafening in your ears. You can’t do it. You couldn’t love him right and now you can’t even send him off right. You are a failure of a wife.

You try again. You have to send him off properly. The string barely moves. A small sob escapes you. The whispers are so loud. You can’t do it and all they can do is whisper. Your head turns. You are going to pass out.

Strong arms lie themselves around you, an armoured chest presses into your back. You tense up, but feel yourself relax when Jimin’s face comes into your vision.

“Trust in me, I can help you”, he whispers as he helps you draw the bow.

The whispers are still in the back of your head, talking about how you cannot do it alone.

“Don’t listen to them. Concentrate on me. They don’t know what they’re saying”, he tells you and aims the bow, “once I stopped talking, we will let go together. Understood?”

You nod your head.

“Okay. Let go.”

The arrow flies fast and it flies straight, connecting with the boat far, far in the distance. It lights up within seconds, painting a bright orange spot on the blue ocean canvas.

The music starts and people behind you begin cheering. It is custom to send off the dead with song and cheer. But you can’t cheer. You are humiliated and at the end of your strength. You turn, falling into Jimin’s arms as you sob uncontrollably. Only a handful of people look at you, while the rest was busy celebrating your husband’s safe journey to the other life.

“I do not wish to be here. Please take me away”, you beg Jimin.

“Of course. Come, hide in me”, Jimin tells you and leads you away from the festivities. Some people try to fetch a touch, but he pushes them away skilfully, sending each a deathly glare.

You can still hear the festivities from your castle. The building is empty as everyone is by the shore wishing your husband and his crew a safe journey. You wanted silence and yet the music and cheers still meet your ears.

Jimin manages to lead you as far as the dining halls and then strength forsakes you.

“I can’t do this”, you wail, falling to your knees.

“Oh”, Jimin gasps and stumbles as the sudden drag surprised him. He catches himself quickly, helping you back to your feet. Together, you and he manage to stumble to a bench, “sit down here. Sit down”, he tells you, helping you with it.

You sink into yourself once you are seated, burying your face in the clammy palms of your hands. Jimin squats down before you, trying to calm you down by rubbing your arms.

“I can’t do this anymore”, you cry.

“Oh my treasure”, Jimin gets out with comradery tears in his eyes, “I’m here. I’m right here”, he promises and pulls you into a hug. He kisses the side of your head, swaying you from side to side gently, “I’m here.”

You and he will hug by this bench until the first voices of people returning meet your ears. And you won’t be able to tell anyone, but you were so incredibly happy to have Jimin by your side.

It shouldn’t have to be mentioned that the weeks after your husband’s early death were filled with grief. You didn’t spend a lot of time doing things a Queen should do. Your once colourful clothing caught dust in your dressers as only the blackest of garments cover your body. Your jewellery stayed untouched and if it wasn’t for your servants, you wouldn’t even have bothered to do your hair. Jimin brings food to you each night. Sometimes Frigga is faster than him and they meet in your chambers with slight awkward surprise between them. Thankfully nobody questions why he spends time with you each night. The court thinks that Jimin is solely doing his duty as your guard and he does. Of course does, but more than anything he attempts to be there for you as your lover, offering you arms to fall into when you needed it and a shoulder to cry on when the tears didn’t want to stop.

“My Queen?”

He brings dinner tonight as well. Your chambers are empty and the scent of vanilla oil fills the room. He knows the origins of this scent like a lover knows the scent of his beloved’s skin. You are bathing.

Jimin places the tray of food on your dining table and takes the path to your bathing chambers. 

You have your back turned to him as you look outside at the sea. The full moon reflects in the unruly waves. A storm is brewing. The kind of storm which took your husband. Jimin knows by just looking at your hunched posture that this is what you are thinking.

“My Queen?”

You turn your head upon hearing Jimin’s voice, meeting his gaze with exhausted eyes. You hum as acknowledgement but otherwise stay quiet.

“Why are the windows open? Aren’t you cold?” Jimin asks, hurrying to the open windows. He closes them, locking out the cold winds. He turns back to you. You are looking at him with tired eyes and your chin resting on your knee. 

“Do you want to leave the water?”

You nod your head.

“I shall call the servants.”

“No. Stay. Don’t call them.”

Jimin watches you stand up and point at the drying cloth. He hurries to it and picks it up instantly, carrying it to you. He holds your hand as he helps you out of the stone tub and wraps you up in the cloth. You lean into him, resting your head back against him as he rubs his hands along your body to dry you. 

“A storm is brewing on the horizon”, you whisper.

“I know. It will be a cold night, but we are inside where it is warm.”

“Do you think that Mino was cold before he died?”

Jimin falters in his touch, looking at the side of your face. You never called your husband by his name before. At least not in front of him.

“I cannot say”, Jimin says quietly. 

“To imagine that he died wet and cold. Storms are so scary. Oh, he must have been so frightened.”

“I am sure that he thought of you, which made it easier to bear.”

“Don’t say that”, you gasp and tear up, “why would you say such a thing?”

“I didn’t think that it would hurt you. Forgive me, oh please don’t cry.”

“I was such a terrible wife to him. He thought of me as he died while I laid in your arms and wasted not a second with thinking of him.”

Jimin would be lying if he said that your words didn’t leave an ache in his heart. He swallows it down and wraps his arm around you.

“Perhaps he didn’t think of you. I just merely said such words because this is what I would do.” 

“Oh”, you let out, spilling tears, “oh what have I done?” 

“Come. Let us get you in some clothes. Come”, Jimin says and leads you outside the bathing chambers and also hopefully away from your emotions. 

He sits you down by your dressing table and hurries to your drawers to get a warm sleeping gown. 

“Jimin, do you believe me to be a terrible person?” you ask him with emotion in your voice, but thankfully no sobs.

“No, my Queen. I believe you to be the most precious person on this planet.”

“If you didn’t love me, would you still think this way?”

“Yes. But I love you and I do not want to imagine a world where I don’t”, he says and hurries back to you, “now, stand up and allow me to dress you.”

You allow him. You stand up and raise your arms so he could slip the sleeping gown on. Then you turn and allow him to tie it in the back. Jimin gives your shoulders a gentle massage once you are dressed, pushing you down carefully until you fall onto the chair. He leans down and places kisses from your dressed shoulder up to your neck. 

He looks at you in the mirror, expecting you to have your eyes closed as you always have when he kisses your neck but instead you are looking at him with sad eyes. 

“I’m frightened”, you confess. 

Jimin furrows his brows in worry. 

“I should be relieved that I am not betraying my husband behind his back anymore, but I am not. I grieve for him deeply and I am frightened.”

“Frightened of what?”

“I do not wish to marry into royalty again. I want to marry you.”

Jimin smiles.

“And yet I am frightened that I will have to. My queendom is so small compared to others. What if people want to attack us now that we lost such a strong ally?”

“Who would want to attack us? We are a peaceful queendom.”

“We are, but the Queens of Stormveil aren’t, neither are the Naritauri. Danger lies beyond the sea and I am frightened.”

“Please don’t be. Those are futures which won’t happen”, Jimin assures you and wraps his arms around you. His cheek is resting against yours, he is swaying your bodies slowly, “for tonight the future you should think about is dinner and how I will rub your back until you fall asleep.”

He expects a smile but receives a sad frown. 

“What’s the matter? Do you not want me to?” 

“I have to send you away tonight”, you press out. 

Jimin feels weird in his stomach. This isn’t going to end well. This is going to hurt him. 

He keeps holding you in an attempt to drag out the inevitable.

“I am sure that none of your maids will come here tonight”, he acts oblivious in hopes of steering the conversation into another direction.

“No. No, I have to send you away. I cannot do this right now.”

“Do you want me to stop hugging you?”

“No, of course I don’t, but I have to send you away. I need time.”

Jimin falters. He shakes his head.

“Please, Jimin”, you whisper, placing your hands on his lower arms, “find it in yourself to understand me. I have too much going on, I cannot drag you along for it.”

“I’m your guard. There is no situation more suited for me than what you are currently experiencing. It is my duty to protect you from harm”, he slides his hand to where your heart races, “especially harm on the heart”, he whispers.

“Jimin please”, you beg, “I cannot do this right now. I need time.” 

Jimin blinks his tears away.

“Time for what?” he asks quietly.

“Time to think and to come up with what I should do and how I should handle the dangers of being such a small, unmarried country with such dangerous neighbours.”

“You can do those things with me by your side.”

“Yes, indeed I can. As my guard.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You can think about these things with me as your lover as well.” 

“I’m sorry. I need time. Everything feels like too much.”

“I don’t want to leave tonight.”

“Neither do I want you to, Jimin!” you say loudly, standing up and therefore breaking the hug. You turn, placing your hands on his chest, “I have to do all this thinking so I do not have to send you away anymore. Do you not understand? I am widowed, Queen of a weak country and I cannot be caught with my guard sleeping in my bed. If people caught you, rumours would start. Rumours that you were compliant in my husband’s death so you could seduce me.”

You shake him by his collar, squeezing out tears.

“And I would have to choose between executing you to make an example or running away from here and making us a target for every possible assassin on the continent.”

Jimin shakes his head.

“You speak of impossible futures. Such things would never happen.” 

“I cannot risk it, Jimin. I just simply cannot. Please give me time. Please, I will fix this. Please, I simply need time.”

Jimin takes a deep breath. He will do something that he will hopefully not regret.

“Very well”, he gives in, “I will give you time. I will fulfil my duties as your guard and give you time.”

“Thank you so much”, you say, cupping his cheeks to pull him into a kiss. This is the last thing you should be doing right now, but you can’t help yourself. You need him like you need air.

Jimin deepens the kiss with his hand on your lower back and his other cupping your cheek. He doesn’t want to stop, to let go, to end this. Once that kiss ends, you will send him away and he will return to being nothing more than your guard. You speak of temporary distance. Jimin sees that you need it as your mind produces futures most impossible and you clearly need the time to rid your mind of them. But he is scared that this isn’t temporary. That perhaps your heart won’t change, but fate will. That life will be cruel enough to force it to change. 

You break the kiss.

“Not yet please”, Jimin begs, chasing you. 

“Jimin, please”, you beg, fleeing him, “please make it easier for me.”

“Then you shouldn’t have kissed me. You shouldn’t have given me a glimpse of you.”

“Please…I….please.”

“Just one more kiss. Please.”

“And then you will beg for one more and then we will end up in bed and I couldn’t possibly send you away.”

“And what would be so terrible about this? A storm is coming. The night will be cold. Allow me to keep you warm”, he caresses your cheek, “___.”

You let out a small whimper, twisting the hair at the back of his head.

“I curse you”, you get out and pull him back into a kiss. 

Jimin doesn’t leave your chambers tonight. But he leaves them tomorrow with the same promise between you and him which he gave you last night. He will give you time.

He shouldn’t have given you time. 

Jimin finally knows why he never should have made such a promise. 

Fate proved him right and now he has to pay the consequences. Your queendom was attacked. But not in the way one might expect, but in a way far worse anyone could have ever imagined. It was attacked by a flood of suitors begging for your hand in marriage. It has been weeks and the proposals won’t stop. He has to stand by your side and has listen to the disgusting yapping of boring men while you pretended to be somewhat interested in what they had to say. 

Perhaps the weeks would have been easier to bear if you gave him a feeling as if you and he weren’t over. But you didn’t. You didn’t call for him at night, didn’t visit him in his chambers, stopped visiting the secret spots you and he so often had found yourselves in to kiss and hug. You even stopped looking at him from the other side of the room or going on walks just so he could follow. 

You acted as if he was just another one of your guards and it ripped him apart. He aches for you and yet you seem so indifferent about him. Jimin already began wondering if you ever really loved him as he loved you. 

Today, the fates were especially cruel to him. 

One of your suitors invited you to a hunting party and because Jimin was your most trusted guard, he had to come along, trailing behind you as this boring, ugly man spit his attempts at seducing you. Jimin could speak to his fellow knights or listen to some of the other noble people coming along for the hunt, but he didn’t want to listen. Not when he had to watch you get seduced by someone as ugly as Lord Frail. It should be a crime that someone like him even looks at you. 

The hunt takes your party of ten noble people, a handful of servants and ten guards deep into your queendom’s forests. Tough conifer trees filled the forests and sharp thorns covered the parts which weren’t paths. Dark green ferns broke up the thick thorn carpets and the scent of the ocean followed you.

“The weather’s good for a hunt. Wouldn’t you say, Sire?”

Jimin turns his head to the right as someone clearly addressed him. One of his fellow Queen’s Guards. He joined them a year ago and looked up to Jimin a lot.

“I guess”, Jimin murmurs, looking back at you and the boring Lord Frail.

“The winds are in our favour. I am sure we’ll be successful.”

“I am sure we will.”

“Have you been on many hunting trips before, Sire?”

“Yes, the late Queen, ___’s mother, took me on trips the moment I began serving as her knight.”

“Huh. I sometimes forget that you and the Queen shared adolescence with each other. I would never dare to call her by her name, but it must be common to you.”

Jimin tenses his jaw for a moment. It stopped being common when you and he both passed your second decade on this earth. Before then, you and he always addressed each other with the other’s name. You played together, danced together, ate at the same table and called each other like two childhood friends. But as age changed you and him, your different ranks became so painfully obvious to both of you. You grew up to be the Princess and future Queen of Windfell, while Jimin stayed a common knight. But even as your name stopped being a common thing for Jimin, you and he never grew apart. Age just tied you tighter together until your husband died and you asked for time. The cliff between you and him had never been that big before and Jimin is aching.

“Yes”, he presses out with a heavy heart, “yes, it was common once.”

“I see. You seem to care a lot for her, Sire.”

Jimin sneaks a glance at the knight.

“As someone, who watched her grow up to be the Queen she is these days, can care about her. Yes.”

“This is good, Sire”, the knight says and takes a deep breath, “the winds are on our sides, I can smell it.”

Jimin relaxes his shoulders now that the conversation shifted back to something less nerve wrecking. One wrong word and he could destroy what you and he built. He glances at you. That is, if fate hadn’t already destroyed it.

The hunting party reaches a clearing, gathering in a small circle so you could converse. Jimin places himself next to you, scanning his eyes over your surroundings.

“We shall go in five groups so we can cover more ground”, you order, “I shall take Lord Frail and we shall meet back here once the sun moved past this mountain.”

The hunting party looks at the high mountain in the distance. The sun will take some time to pass the mountain peak.

“Understood.”

“Very well, take two guards each and be careful not to get hurt. We have seen enough death this year”, you say and turn your horse, looking into Jimin’s eyes, “I want you to come with me.”

“My Queen”, he says, nodding his head. He waves his hand so the knight, who talked to him, follows as well and then your small group is already off.

The hunt turns out to be less painful as Jimin imagined it to be. And it was Lord Frail’s fault. Your small group had put some distance between the party and the group when he broke the silence.

“You spoke of death this year. Have you lost someone, your highness?”

Jimin almost cursed at the stupid man, but stayed silent, looking at your face instead. Shock, anger, disbelief. It all washed over your features upon being asked such a tactless question.

“Did you truly just ask me that?” you press out angrily, “I lost my husband but two months ago.”

“Oh yes! Oh how stupid of me! That is why I am here!” Lord Frail laughs, “please forgive me, I am quite forgetful in my old age.”

“Yes, you seem to be”, you say and turn your head away from him. It was clear to Jimin that you were furious.

“The weather seems to be on our side today, wouldn’t you agree?” Lord Frail continued the conversation as if nothing happened.

“Yes, indeed it is”, you answered each of his questions coldly.

“It is already long into the year, but the autumn takes its time this year. I am quite pleased with it. My old joints do not agree with the cold.”

“That is awful.”

“Yes, yes indeed it is. However, colder weather also means more frequent baths. I do not believe in bathing for cleanliness, but I enjoy warming my old bones in a bath once the weather is cold.”

“I couldn’t even tell that you do not believe in baths, my Lord.”

Jimin has to bite down on his tongue in order not to laugh. The sarcasm drips from your voice.

“Of course, of course”, Lord Frail runs his eyes up and down your body, “do you enjoy baths, Your Highness?” he asks and the implications are obvious in his voice.

Jimin almost drew his sword on him, sending him a deathly glare over your shoulder.

“Yes I do.”

Jimin looks at you in surprise. Why would you say that?

“I prefer to take them alone.”

Jimin relaxes again.

“Oh, ohuohuo”, Lord Frail laughs, “you are a jester, Your Highness.”

“Hahaha”, you practically pronounce your laughter, “I am indeed. A fucking jester.”

“Forgive me?” Lord Frail gasps.

You look away, studying the trees, “nothing”, you murmur and roll your shoulders, “we should split up. I believe that I heard a hog along this path. You should check it out, Lord Frail. I will take this path down along this stream.”

“But shouldn’t we-”

You do not give him time to finish his sentence and then you have already turned your horse and nudged it into a full sprint.

“Hya! Hya!” you encourage it.

Jimin follows you close by, keeping a careful watch on you because a sense of recklessness surrounds you.

“Slow down!” he calls out, “there is a slippery bridge coming!”

He knows that it is slippery because the ground never dries in these forests and nature has grown over the stone bridge and made it slippery. You and he took this path countless times before. Up until now these forests witnessed nothing but good memories between you and him. 

“My Queen, slow down!” he tells you.

You are too fast, speeding up on the last meters.

“___ no!” Jimin screams and watches with horror as you leap over the small stream. He tugs his horse into a stop, gasping for air as he tries to recover from the shock.

You slow the horse down on the other side, turning it skilfully. Your face is glowing from your skin catching the fog, the creases between your brows disappeared.

“Did you see that?” you call out to him, smiling, “I managed this so easily.”

“Yes and almost killed me from fright in the process”, Jimin says, trotting over the bridge.

You laugh, “nothing happened. You worry too much.”

“Worrying is my duty, of course I do”, he says, joining your side.

You snicker. You and he have a comfortable tempo with your horses, swaying from side to side naturally. You take a deep breath, lifting your head.

“I haven’t ran like this in ages. It felt good to do.”

“I worried that you might hurt yourself.”

“Wasn’t I the one to teach you how to ride?” you ask in a chuckle, “you should trust in me more.”

“Of course you taught me, but I also remember the countless times where you ran recklessly and fell.”

“Indeed and yet I never hurt myself.”

“I remember differently. You cried each time you fell.”

“This is a lie and you know that”, you say, reaching over to slap his arm gently.

Jimin laughs with you, reaching over to slap your arm right back.

“I don’t lie.”

You nudge him again, “yes, you do. You liar.”

You and he laugh together and in this moment it felt as if you were fourteen of age again, laughing in the forests after an afternoon of mischief. You and he exchange a look. It was clear to each of you that you thought the same. Growing up is cruel when it meant that two friends of mutual respect have to act as if one was more important in society than the other.

You break the eye contact first, taking a deep breath. Jimin twists the reigns, swallowing down the heavy lump in his throat.

“I cannot stand Lord Frail”, you confess.

“I could tell. You cursed.”

“You heard that?” you laugh, throwing your head back.

It has been too long since Jimin last saw you laugh so honestly. It fills his heart with happiness and so he finds himself laughing with you.

“Oh, I couldn’t help myself. He angered me so much”, you are still laughing as you speak, shaking your head in disbelief, “I mean, who in their right mind forgets something as detrimental as my husband’s death? That is the very reason why I agreed to this charade in the first place.”

“As you said, he’s not right in the mind. He doesn’t believe in baths.”

“Yes, one couldn’t smell this at all.”

You and Jimin laugh and it felt so good to do. Life was correct right now. Life wasn’t cruel because you and he could laugh together.

“Oh, how wonderful”, you end the laugh with a soft swipe under your eyes as if to dry your tears.

“You know”, Jimin begins.

“Mhm?” you hum, granting him a warm look.

“Jinus made me think of us and how long we have known each other already. How long has it been? Fifteen years?”

“Seventeen.”

“Seventeen?”

You nod your head, “we were eleven when I found you on the streets of your village. Remember? You were covered in ash and threatened to beat me with a stick.”

Jimin laughs, “I did! Oh, I forgot.”

You laugh with him, “but you changed your mind once I brought you food. Remember?”

“Of course I remember. I was starving and scared. I wouldn’t have been able to beat you.”

“Oh, I was aware. You looked weak.”

You and Jimin laugh. The forest paths fill with sunlight and the sweet scent of resin. Neither he nor you had noticed until now, how much sunlight fell down on the earth today.

“But we helped you grow strong, didn’t we?”

“Yes, you really did. I found my home with you.”

“Oh”, you let out, exchanging a sheepish look with him.

“Forgive me”, he whispers.

“Don’t worry”, you assure him quietly.

The sunlight dies down again. The scent of resin gets less.

You slow down your horses as the path melts into a small clearing. You jump off the horse. Jimin does the same. You and he choose two small trees to secure your horses on. Equipped with your bow and his sword, you leave the path to wander through the denser forest instead. He is by your side because right now, it is just the two of you and there is no societal rule keeping you apart.

“I apologise for what I said”, Jimin says.

“Don’t apologise”, you assure him, giving him a warm yet yearning look, “I feel glad that you found a home here. Life wouldn’t be the same without you”, you tell him and it is the first time in weeks where you show him that you cared for him. Jimin swallows down his overwhelming emotions to instead give you a smile.

When you retort it, he takes a step closer to you, brushing his finger against your hand. When you don’t pull away, he reaches for you truly and intertwines his fingers with you. You give him a squeeze instinctively.

“Fuck”, you whisper, looking away, “you have to stop doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Reminding me what I feel for you”, you say.

“I won’t ever stop doing this”, he says, eliciting a small laugh from you.

You shake your head, looking at him with fond eyes.

“You are too stubborn.”

“I know”, Jimin says and tugs you closer. You let him, falling into him while he places his hands on your waist. You and he stop in your tracks. Ferns surround you. The sunlight breaks through the trees and illuminates his features beautifully.

You want to kiss him. You want to cup his cheeks and trace his features. You want to call him yours and love him openly.

Seventeen years. There is no constant in your life which has been with you for as long as Jimin has. There is no person in this world who knows you as well as Jimin does. In front of everyone else you have to pretend, to act a certain way, to hide parts of yourself. But not in front of Jimin. There is no person who makes you feel more like yourself than he. 

And there is no person you want to be with more than him. 

He moves in, nudging your cheek with his nose to test the waters. You close your eyes because you couldn’t bear to look at him. 

“Jimin please”, you whisper, exhaling deeply as you move your head away slightly. You look at him even if it is difficult.

“It’s been weeks.”

“We had to go longer than this in the past.”

“But this is different.”

“Jimin, why can’t you-”

A blood curling scream interrupts you before the situation could escalate into a fight. You and Jimin look at where it came from.

“Did you hear this as well?”

“I did.”

“Help! Help!”

You and he exchange a look and spring into a sprint. The fight lies forgotten for now.

You reach your horses quickly, working skilfully to mount them and gallop off. You and Jimin ran together and rode horses next to each other ever since you were children. You taught him how to ride a horse and he taught you how to climb a tree. You didn’t even need words to find perfect synchronisation in your jumps and gallops because acting like a team has been a part of you ever since you were children.

The owner of the screams turns out to be Lord Frail. Covered in muddy water from the stream and without a horse or guard in sight.

“Lord Frail, what happened?” you gasp, slowing down your horse carefully.

“The foolish horse slipped on this bridge and threw me off! It ran off without me!”

You and Jimin exchange a look. What a fool.

“How terrible. Did you hurt yourself, Lord Frail?” you ask without honesty in your voice.

“Of course I did! Look!” he shows off the small graze on his elbow.

Jimin snorts, hiding his laughter behind his hand. You send him a warning look, fighting the toughest battle in trying not to laugh as well.

“How terrible. Where is your guard?”

“I sent him off to get the cursed animal. Horse stew should be made with it! Foolish horse.”

“I am sure that it merely startled”, you tell him and send Jimin a look. He retorts it. He thinks the same. Of course someone like Lord Frail would blame the horse and not his own inability to ride.

Lord Frail stomps his foot.

“So what now? Should I walk?”

You take a deep breath in order not to curse at him.

“Of course not”, you say with a faked smile, “Jimin, give Lord Frail your horse.”

Jimin tenses his jaw, “yes, my Queen”, he says and gets off. He leads his horse to the clumsy man and presses the reins into his hands roughly. The man seems confused at the dark look he receives from the knight, but doesn’t say anything. 

He merely points at the ground.

“You know what to do.”

Jimin considers drawing his sword and slicing this idiot’s belly open. But he doesn’t, instead he gets on all fours so the clumsy sack can climb on his horse. He presses into Jimin’s back painfully, forcing him to growl angrily. It goes unnoticed by the man as he is too busy yapping about how much taller this horse is and that it was too good for a knight.

Jimin stands back up, cleaning off the dirt from his clothes aggressively while his eyes murdered the man. 

“Now where to next?” Lord Frail asks, sitting proudly on the horse which you gave Jimin after he became a knight.

“The castle. I grew rather cold”, you say dryly, studying Jimin with guilty eyes.

“Cold you say? That is a bother. Let’s go then”, Lord Frail says and looks at Jimin, “I assume he walks. Oh, ohuohuo how tragic”, he says and rides off with snickers leaving him.

Jimin feels hot in anger. Perhaps if he threw his sword just right, he could knock this twat off his horse without killing him.

The sound of hooves beside him rips him back to reality. He turns and lifts his head. You are shielding the sun from him, standing right beside him and looking down from your horse.

“I understand. I’m walking”, he hisses and sets off. 

He gets as far as three steps and then he realises that you are riding next to him. He stops again, looking up at you.

You scoot to the front of your saddle. 

“I do not want you to walk.”

Softness washes over his features.

“Come up here”, you tell him, nodding your head behind you.

“Very well.”

Jimin gets on your horse without hesitation. The saddle is built in a way so that you and he could share it with some discomfort. It results in his middle to press against your behind. You rub against each other with every step the horse takes. You try to ignore how it makes you feel, while Jimin tries not to close his eyes.

“Is this comfortable for you?” you ask.

“Yes”, Jimin places his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder. His hands run up and down your corseted waist. His warmth seeps deep into your skin, “it’s comfortable”, he speaks softly and steals a kiss to your neck.

Lord Frail is enough steps ahead of you that he doesn’t notice it.

Your heart is beating unbearably. Jimin is so close to you, touching you and sharing warmth. His neck kiss still lingers on your skin, even now that he is resting his chin on your shoulder again. You brought yourself into this situation, but it is still almost impossible to bear. 

“What if he sees us?” you whisper.

“I truly wish that you wouldn’t consider this twat as a husband”, Jimin ignores your warnings, staring holes into Lord Frail’s head. 

“I’m not. It wasn’t mannerly of him to use you as a stool. I apologise. He is indeed a twat.” 

“Mhm, one that stinks as well. I will have to buy a new saddle and burn the other.”

He makes you laugh. Loudly. Lord Frail looks over his shoulder. Jimin was thankfully quick enough to change his position so he wasn’t resting his chin on your shoulder and his arms around you. His hands rest on your hips now, hidden from view in your coat. The touch is heavy on your skin, seeping into your deepest fibres. 

“That is a peculiar view. I thought he would walk.”

“It is quite far to the castle. I take great care of my knights.”

“I can see that. He’s an ill-mannered lad. He sent me dirty looks.”

“That is merely how he looks when he is on duty.”

Lord Frail looks at Jimin and his darkened eyes. He looks away again, fixing his collar. 

“I see. Well, I don’t like it.”

“If you know yourself to behave, you mustn’t worry.” 

“I am a very mannerly fella.”

“I doubt that, Lord Frail”, you say, masking the poison with a laugh, “after all, you used my knight as a stepping stool.”

“Oh well, yes”, Lord Frail laughs because he thought the situation to be a laughing matter, “he is sturdier than I thought.”

“You misunderstand me, Lord Frail. I wasn’t jesting. You do not use my knights as stepping stools.”

Lord Frail stops laughing. He looks at you with widened eyes. The smile from your face was gone. You weren’t jesting. 

“My apologies, Your Highness”, he presses out even if it clearly hurts his pride. 

“I am not the one to apologise to.”

Lord Frail looks at Jimin. The dark haired knight is carrying triumph on his features. 

“His name is Jimin. Say it with respect”, you say coldly.

Lord Frail flares his nostrils and opens his mouth.

“My apologies, Sir Jimin”, he mumbles, frowning in distaste afterwards.

“Very well”, you say and click your tongue, telling your horse to speed up with a gentle nudge of your feet. 

The horse listens well, galloping off so you could put some distance between you and the ill-mannered lord. He should know that he wasted his chance. 

Galloping on a horse with Jimin behind you is difficult. Not only because sharing a saddle minimises the support you have, but also because he is rubbing against you. The thick, sturdy leather of his pants against your own thick leather thankfully masks some of the sensation, but it was there nonetheless. 

You slow down soon, passing the convoy in a slow trot. You ignore the curious looks people send you, calling out orders instead.

“If one may see a horse without a rider, return it to Lord Frail. The fool lost it!”

“Yes, Your Highness”, they answer you and pretend that seeing your knight ride behind you without any distance between you and him was a normal sight to see. 

“We will ride straight back to the castle. Is Jinus back already?”

“Yes, my Queen he is back with the others.”

“Very well.”

There were two reasons for why you decided to ride to the front. You were the Queen and you needed Lord Frail to know that he lost his spot by your side. And being in the front meant that Jimin couldn’t touch you again. He has been running his hands up and down your hips and thighs ever since you put Lord Frail into his place and it is getting very difficult to concentrate. Thankfully, your riding coat covers his hands from creeping eyes, but you knew that they were there and it is making your thoughts blur. 

“I will assume that your sword needs fixing”, you tell him quietly enough that hopefully only he can hear.

“Mhm yes, my sword needs polishing”, Jimin answers you, sending heat to your face. 

You hide the giggle wanting to escape by covering your mouth, lowering your head for just a second. Jimin squeezes your softness under the coat, chuckling deeply. Even through the thick layer of leather you could feel the strength behind his touch. 

You straighten up, “Jimin, I am serious. Please fix your sword.”

“It is hard to fix when it’s in my pants.”

“Lower your voice”, you hiss. 

“It is hard to fix when it is in my pants”, Jimin whispers, letting the words swirl against your neck.

“I am not jesting.”

“Neither am I.”

You swallow heavily. His touch is unbearable to handle. 

“My Queen”, thankfully – or perhaps sadly – Frigga catches up to your side. Jimin slides his hands from your coat, placing them on your waist instead. He needs to hold on somewhere and this was the most logical place. It isn’t easier to bear. 

“Yes, Frigga?” you ask her, hoping that your breathlessness goes unnoticed. 

“What shall I tell the cooks to prepare tonight now that the hunt bared no fruit?”

“Whatever they find on the markets. I am certain there are lovely fish to buy.”

“Understood. Is Lord Frail staying for dinner?”

“No. No, as a matter of fact I wish to eat dinner in my chambers. I have had enough of dutiful chattering.” 

“I understand”, Frigga looks at Jimin with a sense of knowing in her eyes, “will Jimin bring you dinner?”

The knowing grows. You feel yourself panic. Jimin’s presence behind you feels burdensome. 

“Why would you ask such a thing?” you gasp. 

“Because he always brings you dinner. My Queen, what did you believe that I was saying?” 

“Nothing. I, uhm, nothing. It doesn’t matter”, you stutter. 

Frigga studies you and Jimin together. 

“I understand”, she says and slows down her horse to put some distance between you and her.

The rest of the ride back was silent until Lord Frail gallops to the front clumsily.

“Your Highness, I must ask for clarification. Am I staying for dinner?”

“No, you are not.”

“Is it because I used your knight as a stepping stool?”

“It is because you are ill-mannered and quite frankly, you reek.”

Jimin laughs quietly behind you, squeezing your waist. You could swear that he rolled his hips against you. You bite down on your tongue to distract yourself.

“Oh that is”, Lord Frail searches for words. In the end, he decides on scrunching his nose in distaste and leaving with a mumbled, “manner less wench.”

“What did you just call her?” Jimin hisses, trying to draw his sword.

“Let him be”, you say, “he’s just a lord. His house consists of him and his servants.”

Jimin sends Lord Frail one last dark look and then he won’t ever see him again.

The ride home continues to be silent from then on and Lord Frail will leave the castle without receiving another word from you.

The horse Lord Frail borrowed from your castle waits by the stables once you return. You greet it with pets behind its ears and apologies for having to carry someone as smelly as Lord Frail. The horse seems to care rather little about what you say. You leave it by the stables, making your way to your chambers.

Jimin follows you.

You turn when you realise his presence.

“Why are you following me?”

Jimin glances down at his crotch. Your eyes follow his line of sight.

“I think you misunderstood something. I am leaving to get changed.”

“So am I”, Jimin says, taking a step closer.

“Jimin, please.”

“Riding with you messed with my mind”, he says, closing in on you until he could touch your waist.

“I could feel it.”

“I couldn’t help myself. I keep thinking about you and being so close to you, it reminded me how much I want to be with you.”

You are so weak in his presence. You truly wanted to keep distance to him, to give yourself time to think and to perhaps give him a chance to move on and yet you are back where you started, craving nothing but his presence. You miss him when you wake, when you fall asleep and when you see wonderful stuff you know he would love to see. Sharing such a laughter-filled afternoon with him, having him close as you rode and being reminded of how far you and he go back, reignited every single flame you tried to kill. 

“Jimin, I…” you begin, placing your hands on his chest. His heart is racing just as quickly as yours does. 

Jimin closes in, lowering his eyes halfway as he gazes at your lips. You inch closer, getting lost in the view of his lips. 

“Oh, there you are my Queen”, Frigga says, stopping in her steps as he watches you and Jimin scramble to break apart.

“Are you feeling better now, my Queen? Do you still feel weak in the knees?” Jimin lies, holding your waist.

“Yes, I feel better. Thank you for catching me, Sire”, you lie, meeting Frigga’s eyes, “oh Frigga, how lucky that you are here. Might you help me out of my clothes? I suddenly feel terribly weak from riding.”

Frigga clears her throat, keeping her thoughts to herself. She hurries to your side and supports you, taking over for Jimin this way. She leads you away from him.

“Yes, my Queen. Shall I send for the physician?” she asks.

“No, no I am sure that food and something to drink will help me greatly.”

“I understand, then we will…”

The rest of the conversation dies out in Jimin’s ears as you and Frigga cross the corner and therefore disappear from his sight.

Jimin takes a deep breath, touching his chest where his heart races. He doesn’t feel bad, he feels hopeful. Of course he is upset that you and he got interrupted, but if Frigga hadn’t interrupted you and him, he would have been close to you again.  You leaned in for a kiss. You haven’t given up on him yet. He giggles to himself, doing a small jump before he hurries away in happy skips. Today wasn’t as terrible as he thought it to be.

He will wash up and then wait for you in the hallways. Knowing your traditions, you will leave your chambers for a book from the library and that is when he will catch you again. Yes, that is his plan for the remaining day.

Jimin eats food in the dining hall with the others. He listens to Jinus talk about how awful Lord Frail’s company was and in return, Jimin tells him how he had to act as his stepping stool. The two knights proceed to call the lord many names, which will not be documented in these writings but one can imagine of what nature they were. After dinner, he still had to partake in an hour of training, but different than on other days, Jimin felt good. He felt happy and hopeful and terribly excited for what the night will bring.

Jimin tells the knights to have a good sleep after training and he makes his way to the library. He meets Frigga and your maids on his way, greeting them with a bright smile. Frigga’s eyes keep lingering on him, but Jimin ignores it, continuing his way to the library. He won’t be witness to the knowing gasp Frigga releases once she realises where his path will take him.

The library is empty during this hour of the day, but Jimin doesn’t let it intimidate him. He knows where to find you. You particularly enjoy the cultural section and always find yourself lost in the books. Tonight is no different. Dressed in a simple night gown and with your hair vast of jewellery, you stand by the cultural section with a book in your hand.

Jimin increases his steps, smiling so brightly his cheeks hurt. He begins running those last few steps. He cannot wait to be with you again.

You turn your head at the sound of steps in sync with Jimin sweeping you off your feet and pressing you against the shelf. You wanted to scream in shock, but don’t get to as Jimin claims your lips in a deep kiss.

The book falls to the ground, your lips tremble against his'. Your surprised sounds get swallowed by him.

Jimin rolls his hips into you and sighs, sucking on your lower lip as his heart races in his chest. He missed your kisses so much. He missed surprising you with them and how you always clutch him especially tightly as a result.

Tonight however, your desperate touch doesn’t come. Tonight, your hand presses itself between your lips as you begin wiggling in his hands until he can’t help but drop you.

“I don’t understand”, he confesses.

“Why would you do this? I gave you no permission”, you spit, carrying anger on your features.

“I, I thought that, that. You love when I surprise you here.”

“You have no idea what I want. All you care about is yourself”, you spit and push him away.

Jimin stumbles back, hitting the opposite bookshelf. His heart aches in his chest. Your words cut so very deep.

You turn and run away.

“I don’t understand. Why are you saying this?” he gets out, running after you, “my Queen what happened? Why are you acting this way?”

“I never should have come here. I’m such a fool”, you murmur to yourself.

“My Queen”, Jimin insists, touching your wrist gently, “what happened? I’m sorry for surprising you, I never wanted to make you uncomfortable.”

You turn around, looking at him with glassy eyes. Jimin closes in on you, carrying honest regret in his eyes.

“What’s the matter? Is it me? I’m sorry for acting like this.”

“She asked me about you, Jimin”, you get out with fear in your voice, “she knows what we are”, you add and continue your way back to your chambers.

“What? Wait, what?” Jimin stutters, “wait. What are you saying?” he asks as he begins running after you.

“Go away, Jimin”, you tell him, increasing your steps.

“Who asked about me?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. We are so wrong.”

“Who asked about me?” Jimin insists with increasing panic in his chest. He doesn’t like how you talk or how you act.

“Frigga. She saw that we touched each other and asked what it meant.”

“And what did you say?”

“Please, leave me alone. Please”, you beg, leaving the library. It isn’t far to your chambers anymore.

“My Queen”, Jimin follows you, “my Queen, please.”

You increase your steps. Tonight is not a good night for this. You feel weakened in spirit and crave his gentle touch. Frigga asked about him. She asked if perhaps you felt more for him than just friendship. You didn’t know what to say and so you sent her away. Now you are frightened. You do not want the public to find out and therefore shame Jimin. You can’t be responsible for him losing his honour. You are so scared and the worst of this situation was, that you craved his hugs as remedy.

“My Queen, please allow me but a moment”, he begs, taking one step where you take two. He knows these hallways well enough to be aware that he doesn’t have long until you can flee into your chambers, “please just a fleeting moment. I do not require much time.”

“You should go to bed, Jimin. It is too late”, you tell him, taking a sharp turn to the left. Your chambers are so close to reach.

“___ beloved, please.”

You falter in your steps. Your name from his lips stole your ability to walk. No one knows that he calls you beloved, whispered when he is deep inside you or gasped when you sink down on him. It happened naturally, he didn’t realise at first that these syllables fell from his tongue until you kissed him deeper than you ever had before and stole his breath in the process. Ever since then, your name followed by a term of endearment leaves him during moments most intimate. To be called this way right now, here in the dark, cold hallway where longing gets so painful to bear, robs you of every step you wanted to take. Jimin stops in order not to run into you. You don’t turn, but you also don’t run away anymore. You are breathing heavily, balling your hands into fists.

Jimin steps closer and brushes his hand down your arm. You tense up, biting your own lower lip to stop it from trembling. His touch returns warmth to your skin. Warmth, you missed like lungs miss air and plants miss sunlight. 

“Please stop pushing me away. We can solve this together”, he speaks quietly, sharing a secret only meant for you. 

A step closer. 

His calloused hand closes around your elbow. You close your eyes. To be touched by him is the most painful of dreams. Why must he feel so good? 

“I know that you are hurting. Please allow me take care of you”, he whispers, looking at your neck with longing, “allow me to ease the aches. Like I always did.” 

You want to speak, but can’t. You can’t form words as the only word your tongue craves to produce is his name.

His arm lays itself around your waist and tugs you into his chest. 

His heart is hammering against his ribcage. His warmth engulfs you in burning flames. Tears escape your eyes and leave cold trails down your cheeks. 

His hand closes on your waist and squeezes. The touch digs into the deepest parts of you. It is so familiar and yet so foreign. A comfort estranged because of the distance you forced yourselves to be in. 

“I miss you”, Jimin whispers with trembling emotion in his voice and brushes his nose against your neck. Vanilla and honey. He missed your scent so much. 

You miss him as well. You miss his laughter, his voice, his embrace and the tenderness of his kisses. You miss him when you fall asleep, you miss him when you wake up and you miss him during the day. The grief for your late husband is only for the public, for the true reason you are grieving is your lost love with Jimin. You ache without him. 

“It’s late Sire, go to bed”, you force the words out, stepping out of the hug even if you didn’t want to. 

“My Queen…”

You leave without looking back because if you did, you would have fallen around his neck and begged him to stay. You can’t allow yourself to give in.

Jimin doesn’t follow you that night and you cry yourself to sleep. 

He is talking. He should be the one asking questions and listening, but instead he has been talking about himself for the past hour. His name was Landor. Another suitor begging for a chance to be your second husband. He promises you lands in the north and strong children in the belly. Both of which sounded terrible to you. 

He is currently laughing at one of his fooleries. You don’t think it entertaining and so you don’t laugh. He snorts as his way of stopping his bone twisting laughter, looking at you with self-assured confidence. He must think himself to be the most entertaining of fellow. He probably hadn’t even realised that you didn’t join his laughter.

“Thank you Sire, I shall send word with my decision”, you tell him and send him away with a flick of the wrist.

“My Queen, I await the splendid news with longing in my heart”, Landor says and leaves thinking that he completely charmed you. He won’t ever receive word from you. 

The doors close and so you turn to your advisor.

“How much yapping do I still have to bear?” you ask her.

“There are still six contestants left, my Queen”, Frigga tells you and shows you the list. You skim over the names. None seems familiar to you and none catches your attention. Because none formed the name of the man you truly yearn for. You catch yourself looking at him.

He is standing behind Frigga, staring at the closed throne room doors with a stern expression. To others he seemed concentrated, but you know that he was upset. The tension in his jaw is familiar to you. You know that it only tortures his muscles when he is upset. He had this habit ever since he was a boy and on many nights, you soothed it away with soft touches to his jaw.

Jimin’s eyes flit to you, meeting your gaze for but a moment before you quickly look away. Your heart races unbearably. He caught you staring.

“Six, I see”, you press out, touching your own chest in hopes of calming down your heart, “bring in the next contestant.”

The doors open. You hope that it is enough to distract the people in the room and most importantly to distract Jimin. You glance at him again, feeling your heart twist in your chest. He is still looking at you, carrying heartbreaking longing in his dark brown eyes. The longing grows when your gazes meet, the tension in his jaw riffles and tightens.

You seemed tired today. Jimin felt tired as well. He didn’t find a lot of sleep last night, repeating what happened in the dark hallways over and over again. He tried to find answers to understand why you keep pushing him away. He fell asleep without finding what he looked for. Even now, as he looks into your eyes, he can’t find it.

You are plagued by thoughts of your own. You miss him. You miss his embrace, his kiss and his hands which fit so perfectly in yours. You miss him.

“My Queen!”

The voice of the next contestant rips you back to reality. You break your eyes away from Jimin and look at the man before you.

The next contestant for your hand in marriage was taller than Landor. His hair was grey and a lot thinner already and he seemed to have used some sort of animal grease to smudge it back. You scrunch your nose at the view, already hating the interaction. 

“My Queen!” he speaks loudly and bows deeply, “my name is Sir Kanneth from Kanneth Height and I am here to ask for your hand.”

“Yes I am aware. Tell me why I should consider taking you as my husband.”

“I shall tell you through song, my Queen!” he says and slides a lute from his back.

You bite back your exhausted sigh. He is one of those men. Annoying peacocks who believe their mediocre singing and terrible song writing will impress you. You listen to the man sing about his great adventures, wishing that it was over soon.

No voice could impress you, not when you know how Jimin sings. He doesn’t sing often, mostly during quiet moments of the night when the candles are almost burned down and you feel relaxed in his arms, but whenever he does, you find yourself wishing for time to slow down just so you could listen to him longer. You glance at Jimin again. He is furrowing his brows as he is forced to listen to the contestant sing. He turns his head, meeting your gaze. 

The terrible melodies drown out in your ears as you get lost in Jimin’s eyes. If you got up and ran away with him, would your life be happy?

“Wonderful! Oh how wonderful!” the cheers and applause of the court rips you back to your sad reality.

Sir Kanneth finished his song, bowing his head at you. You lift your hands and begin clapping.

“Impressive”, you say coldly, carrying no honesty in the statement.

Sir Kanneth leaves the throne room twenty minutes later. He won’t receive word either.

Neither will the third nor fourth contestant of the day. The fifth one enters the throne room, bearing gifts. Foreign food, which seem to be of his home country. He appears to be of your age and carries himself well. His ruby hair was long and reflected the light and his clothes were made of the finest of silks. You watch him with interested eyes.

He bows.

“Thranduin is my name. I come from far, far in the west”, he bows deeply, “my dearest condolences for your incredible loss, Your Highness. I too lost my first wife to the seas and I understand your grief.”

“Thank you for your well wishes”, you tell him, running your eyes up and down his body, “you don’t look like my other suitors.”

“Oh no”, he laughs and you think his laugh to be passable, “but when I got news that Queen ___ of the beautiful country of Windfell seeks a new husband, I had to get on my dragon and see you.”

“You have dragons in your country?”

“Yes indeed we do. We receive our companions once we pass two decades. Smogwyn is his name and he is a wonderful companion. I could introduce you to him if you wish.”

You don’t think that conversation with Thranduin is terrible or boring. As a matter of fact, he intrigues you, which hurts one person in the room more than anyone else. Jimin, stood behind you and with a careful eye on you, he stands witness to the laughable attempts of charming you the other men perform. He celebrates whenever one of your suitors gets send away by you, he judges whenever one says ridiculous stuff and he suffers now that you are standing up from your chair to descend the stairs.

“I would love to meet your companion, Sire. I have always dreamed of seeing a dragon.”

“Then I shall introduce you to him. I promise he doesn’t bite.”

You laugh and while Thranduin seems delighted, Jimin almost bites his own teeth out from tensing his jaw so tightly.

His agonies continue as his duties drag him with you. He follows behind while you and Thranduin talk. He clutches the handle of his sword tightly while his mind produced the most sinister of thoughts. If he was quick enough, he could cut Thranduin’s head off and throw his body over the edge of the railing. The cliff would be high enough and the sea punishing enough to take care of the rest. Naturally, he doesn’t give in to his thoughts even if every laugh you spill because of this stranger makes him wish he did.

Smogwyn, the dragon, is outside the capital gates. Down the windy road which leads to the rocky beaches of the capital. People had already gathered on top the walls to look at the foreign animal. The dragon covers an impressive amount of land, dragging a gasp out of you.

“By the heavens, this animal is enormous!”

“Indeed he is, eventhough he is still growing.”

“He is? Oh how incredible. How big will he be once he stops growing?”

“About twice his current size.”

“Oh, I am awestruck. This is the most unbelievable thing I have ever seen.”

“Shall I call him to us?”

“Oh heavens I am a little frightened, but yes call him.”

Thranduin whistles with the help of his fingers.

The red scaled dragon lets out a grumble so deep the earth shakes and lifts his head. He takes a step where humans would have to take seven, shaking the water each time he connects his clawed foot with the ground.

You are standing on the high bridge which connects the capital with the Queendom’s many islands. The dragon reaches above the bridge, taking up your entire vision as he moves his head close.

You squeak in frightened excitement, stumbling back. Your hand closes around Jimin’s in instinct. His heart stops in his chest, his stomach clenches. You haven’t noticed that you are holding his hand as you are mesmerised by the dragon. Thranduin hasn’t noticed either, he is too preoccupied with petting his scaled companion.

“Oh, this is frightening”, you say and squeak in laughter.

The dragon moves his head, taking in your scent.

“Oh heavens”, you squeal, squeezing your eyes shut as the dragon’s nose stubs your body. He breathes in and exhales, blowing warm winds around your body and Jimin’s. The dust on the ground swirls, your dress sways aggressively. The air smells like glowing coal. But everything Jimin can take in, is your hand squeezing his’ and your back pressing against his chest as you flee from the dragon.

The dragon grumbles and lifts his head.

“Oh this was thrilling!” you exclaim, letting go of Jimin’s hand to clap. You jump on the spot, beaming at Thranduin, “a dragon smelled me! Oh Sire, I am bouncing in excitement. This was incredible!”

Jimin balls his hand to a tight fist, staring at your glowing face with pain in his heart. You gave him so much happiness with the touch and yet you haven’t even realised that you did it.

“He seems to enjoy your company, Your Highness”, Thranduin says, “I must say that I share this feeling with him.”

“Oh dear”, you fluster.

Jimin tenses his jaw, gripping the handle of his sword. He would most definitely be eaten by the dragon if he tried anything right now, but it would be worth it. This man angers him beyond imagination.

You step closer to Thranduin.

“May I touch him? Please just once.”

“Of course. Give me your hand, I shall guide you to him.”

And so Jimin has to watch as you place your hand into the palm of a stranger. This is the hand he held mere moments ago and now you are giving it away. Jimin forces down tears and turns his back to you. He can’t bear to watch this any longer. He can hear you squeal and squeak behind him as Thranduin, the twat, guides your hand over the rough scales of the dragon. He can hear you laugh and giggle as Thranduin calls out your beauty once again. And he can hear you talk with great vigour in your voice as you ask more questions about the dragons and the customs of Thranduin’s country.

He doesn’t look at you until it was time to leave for the castle again. And while he puts more distance between you and him, you seem to walk closer to Thranduin.

You stop by the throne room doors.

“Will you stay in Windfell for long, Sire?” you ask Thranduin.

“I can stay for as long as you wish me to, Your Highness. I have many more stories to tell”, Thranduin says, making you smile.

“Then you shall stay for dinner. I want to know everything you have to tell and try the foods you brought.”

“As you wish, Your Highness. I shall stay for dinner. I am certain that my country’s cuisine will bring you great enjoyment. Food is very important in our culture.”

“You have me interested, Sire. I enjoy food a great lot.”

“It seems that we share yet another similarity, Your Highness”, he says and makes you laugh. 

Truly, Jimin wishes that he could slice him. 

The sixth contestant of the day gets sent home with the promise that tomorrow will be another day, while Thranduin gets led to one of the empty guest quarters to prepare for dinner.

You hurry to your own chambers, followed by Frigga and Jimin. While Frigga helps you with getting dressed behind your privacy screen, Jimin is destined to stand by your door. He tries not to, but still looks at you. The privacy screen feels like mockery to him. Your naked body is a landscape most familiar to Jimin and yet you hide away from him. He is aware why you do it, as his explorations were secret to even Frigga, and he also knows that he has no right to your body even if you and he were husband and wife, but he still feels mocked today. Your friendly nature with Thranduin made him irrationally jealous and upset.

“He seemed to have caught your attention, my Queen”, Frigga says, twisting a knife in Jimin’s heart with her words.

“Oh yes, his dragon is most interesting”, you say, “I hope to hear many more stories about them.”

“My Queen, you make it sound as if everything which was intriguing about the man was his dragon”, Frigga jokes and laughs.

You falter for a moment. Frigga can’t see it as she is busy tying your dress at the back, but Jimin can. The privacy screen is low enough that your heads are still poking out. Jimin watches how a sort of realisation washes over you and how embarrassment replaces it.

“Well, I”, you let out a breathy laugh, lowering your head as you shake it, “you speak of silly things, Frigga.”

Frigga giggles, “my apologies. You know that I jest way too much.”

You laugh, nodding your head. But the realisation still remains on your features.

Jimin stares at it with a racing heart. Perhaps he looked at the entire situation with incorrect eyes. Perhaps Thranduin was never exciting to you, but the dragon and stories he brings. Perhaps the man will ruin his chances with you just as all the other men did. A dragon and little stories will only be interesting to you that long before you realise that the man itself won’t bring you satisfaction.

Your eyes flit to Jimin and meet his gaze and for the first time today, he feels confident in holding eye contact. You break it sooner than him, touching the side of your own neck. You don’t look at him again while Jimin feels his lips curl into a triumphant smile. Your eyes said everything he needed to know. You just lost interest in the man.

Fate however soon shows him that it wasn’t as easy as he thought it to be. You seem entirely entranced by the man’s every word during dinner. You look at him, laugh at his jokes, ask for more stories and once dinner ends, you ask him if he felt in the mood for honey wine in the castle gardens. And while Jimin wanted to follow you as your guard, you told him that he was free for the night, leaving him behind as you left for wine with Thranduin. Jimin felt so angered by the entire situation that he dared to kick the sturdy stone wall when nobody saw him. 

The castle sleeps except for a few night owls still playing card games in the dining halls. They share wine and sweet delicacies of your country. Butter cookies with a pinecone jelly filling. The taste is most exquisite and goes excellent with the honey wine of the castle’s brewery. You drank quite a lot of the honey wine tonight, so much in fact that you try not to let the people see you as you hurry to your bed chambers. It would be beyond humiliating to show yourself in such a state to the public. It is already embarrassing enough that Thranduin had to help you to your feet as you felt too drunk to walk on your own. Speaking of the latter, you left him by his guest quarters, promising him breakfast in the dining hall tomorrow.

Frigga and your maids are asleep by now. You are glad that they are, because you couldn’t bear to hear their teasing comments about your intoxicated state. They would most definitely think your jolly nature to be of love drunk origin, but it wasn’t. You were drunk. Nothing less and nothing more. Thranduin was good company, his stories were thrilling and you loved learning about dragons. He was also very handsome and a scent of what he called a “coconut” surrounded him. But you didn’t find your heart beating faster for him. He felt more like a good friend to you than a potential husband. You were too drunk to think about the meaning of said feelings however, all you knew is that you had a good evening and that you felt ready for bed.

You slip inside your chambers, closing the doors behind you. You use them to catch your balance for a moment, propping your hand against the wood as you take a few deep breaths. You are jolly drunk, by the heavens.

You let a small giggle escape. It has been too long since you last felt that carefree. You missed the feeling so incredibly much.

“Ah heavens”, you let out and turn to hurry to the dressing area. You want to get out of your clothes. They have been torturing you for too long.

It is a rather difficult task to undress. It is already very hard to do alone on a sober day and with the additional help of alcohol, it gets almost impossible. You find yourself sitting down on the floor and undoing the intricate lacing of your dress this way. You also take off your jewellery this way, giggling to yourself because you felt rather silly sitting on the floor. Truly, you feel so entirely carefree tonight.

You abandon your clothes and jewellery on the ground, stepping from behind the privacy screen in nothing but your undergarments. You need to take the hair jewellery out and take care of your skin and then you can finally fall into bed. You stumble past your bed, letting out a loud scream when you see a figure sitting on it. You squint your eyes to see better.

“Jimin?!” you exclaim, stumbling closer, “by heavens, you gave me such a fright! I believed you to be an intruder. Oh dear”, you giggle at first until realisation overcomes you, “why are you in my chambers? Have you always been here? Did you sit in silence like a ghost while I undressed?!”

Jimin nods his head. He is wearing nothing more than a thigh-length sleeping tunic and some comfortable linen pants. His sword is on the mattress beside him and his hair lacks volume from brushing it.

“Why would you do such a thing?”

“You seem drunk”, he ignores your question, scanning his eyes up and down your body.

“Indeed I am. I drank way too much honey wine.”

“I can see that. You shouldn’t drink that much. You’re the queen.”

“Oh come now”, you let out a mocking scoff, “did you truly just say that?”

He nods his head, tightening his jaw.

“This isn’t yours to say.”

“I worry.”

“Well, don’t. It soils my mood.”

Jimin tongues his cheek, lowering his eyes in annoyance.

You break your eyes away from him and walk to your dressing table. You don’t feel as jolly drunk anymore as you did before. As a matter of fact, you feel rather terrible. He was the reason why you drank so much. You wanted to forget him and the burning feelings you harbour for him and seeing him on your bed presented in such an intimate way brought everything, you managed to forget about, back to the surface. You are so irrationally angry at him.

Jimin watches you barely manage to sit down. If the chair wasn’t as sturdy in its balance as it was, you most definitely would have doubled over. 

You begin taking out your hair pearls, doing so with swaying shoulders and lazy eyes. 

Jimin takes a deep breath and gets up from bed. He walks to the dining area of your room and prepares a jug of water for you. The waters in your queendom are as clear as crystal and healing to drink. While other queendoms struggle to find safe drinking water, your queendom lives in abundance. You especially enjoy the taste of it when you wake up in the middle of the night and its temperature feels especially cold on your tongue. 

Jimin places the full jug on the dressing table. You look at it, then at the reflection of him in your mirror. His jaw carried tension.

“Drink it. You will get a headache otherwise”, he tells you. 

“I didn’t ask for water.”

“And I didn’t ask to be treated like shit. It seems we both didn’t get what we asked for.” 

You break your eyes away from him, gulping the water down in an attempt to rid yourself of the painful lump in your throat. 

The silence is suffocating. He keeps staring at you, standing right behind you. You feel so much aching pressure on your heart, struggling to undo the pearls in the back. Jimin nudges your hands away gently and takes over for you. Your eyes meet in the mirror. He is frowning while you can barely keep the eye contact alive. He breaks it first, looking down at your head as he helps you with your hair.

Jimin helped you with your hair on many occasions in the past. He studied as your hair dressers styled it and studied how they prepared it for bed and then one night he asked if he could be the one preparing it for you. You allowed him and ever since that night, he often took care of your hair while you looked at him through the mirror.

To have him take care of you tonight breaks your heart into a million pieces. You are so lonely without him.

Jimin removes the last of your hair pearls, leaning over to place them in the big sea shell on your table. The seas of your queendom were filled with the most wonderful of shells, some even bigger than your head. It is a common occurrence that empty shells wash up at the shores and for the bowl makers of the capital to create the most wonderful bowls and trinkets out of them. Shell bowls and boxes are scattered all throughout your chambers, holding your jewellery and other treasures.

Jimin’s middle presses into your back as he leans over. The sensation steals your air. It ends too soon for your taste, but you know not to reach behind you and pull him closer like you so often did in the past. You shouldn’t do this anymore. As a matter of sad fact, you never should have allowed it to come this far that you began pulling him closer for more.

Jimin picks up the brush which your brush makers fabricated out of shells and natural bristles especially for your hair. It always leaves your hair feeling healthy and Jimin learned how to use it correctly in order to care for you.

It feels so good to have him untangle your hair, but it also makes you ache. He knows you so well and takes such great care of you. You miss him so much.

You reach for the jug of water quickly to distract yourself from your feelings.

“You held my hand today”, Jimin says into the heavy silence. 

You choke on your water, spilling some as you set the jug down hastily. You cough, looking at Jimin again. 

The latter lands gentle slaps to your upper back to get rid of your cough. It helps.

“What are you saying?” you get out, clearing your throat to rid yourself of the last tickles.

“Down by the beach, when the dragon came close. You held my hand.”

You shake your head, “I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. And then you gave it away to Thranduin”, Jimin scrunches his nose in jealous disgust, “the only thing this man can bring you, is the stench of dragon and boring stories. Even his food lacked flavour and I am sure he fucks just as bland.” 

“What’s wrong with you?” you gasp, feeling honestly shocked at his harsh words. It is unlike him to allow his dialect to come through.

“Nothing. I am merely saying it how it is.”

“Well, you are incorrect. I shared a wonderful evening with him. He is good company.”

“Good’s just passing in disguise. You deserve more than good company.”

“He has potential to become great company.”

“Of course”, Jimin says and scoffs, turning his back to you to walk back to the bed, “you’re a terrible jester.”

You stand up, looking at him with dark eyes. 

“I felt so jolly tonight. Why must you ruin it like this?”

“Because I’m in misery and I’m selfish and awful enough that I don’t want you to be happy with someone who isn’t me.”

“I see”, you let out and scoff, “you truly are selfish.”

“Yes, indeed I am. I am the most selfish bastard you will ever meet and you know who I learned this from?”

You don’t answer him.

“You. You made me your servant, took my innocence, gave me glimpses of a life with you only to push me away once your joke of a husband spent his time and rotted away and you finally began feeling guilty enough. You are the most selfish person I have ever seen.”

“Why would you say that?” you gasp, feeling yourself tear up.

“Because I am tired of being treated this way by you.”

“Treated this way? You are my knight and nothing more. Why can’t you leave me alone?”

“Leave you alone? I went from holding you in my arms and feeling your love to being pushed away and treated like vermin by you within the blink of an eye. Tell me how this should make me feel. How I should live with the ache in my heart.”

“You know why I had to push you away.”

“No. No, I don’t because you never gave me an explanation. He died”, Jimin points out at the sea, “and suddenly I wasn’t good enough anymore, because we are both well aware that your horrific futures wouldn’t ever have happened. They were never the reason why you pushed me away. I merely stopped being good enough and I am tired of running after you. Please just give me a reason why I stopped being good enough for you.”

“I do not owe you an explanation, I am your Queen.”

“Yes, you are my Queen, but you are also my best friend and the woman I love and you loved me as well. The least I deserve is an explanation.”

You loved him.

The word hurts.

Loved is incorrect.

You love him.

You still do.

You still love him. You never stopped.

But you have to push him away. You and he are wrong for each other. There are no two souls which are actually so right for each other, but society makes you wrong. In another life where no ranks or duties differentiate you and him, you could be happy. But not here. Not in the real world.

“There is no explanation. I am your queen and you did your duties. I apologise if I made it seem as if there was more behind it.”

Jimin tears up, but continues to talk. His heart aches too much not to. He isn’t rational right now, led by emotions and he needs to say everything which was on his mind.

“Why are you saying this? Why would you lie? Who are you pretending for? It’s just us right now. Why do you pretend to feel nothing for me?”

“I am not pretending. I feel nothing for you.”

Jimin closes the distance between you and him. You stumble back until the edge of the desk digs into your thighs. Jimin acts quickly, lifting you up on the table with such vigour that you make a sound without wanting to. He is between your legs, pressing his middle against your own while his hands are on your waist. You feel short of breath, gulping repeatedly in an attempt to get air back into your lungs.

“Go on tell me that this doesn’t make you feel anything”, Jimin whispers, drawing patterns between your eyes and your lips with his mesmerising gaze, “tell me that this means nothing to you and I will leave you to find unhappiness with a stranger.”

“Jimin I…” you breathe shakily, fighting your eyes as they flit to his lips. You lose the fight. His lips are glistening in the candle lights, looking like rose petals in colour even in the dim room. The scent of his vanilla lip oil meets your nose. You crave his kiss like water “…please.”

“Push me away, ___.”

“Why would you do this to me? Why can’t you listen?”

“Because I can’t give up on you. Not without help, so push me away. That is all you have to do. Push me away.”

You place your hands on his chest. His heart is racing uncontrollably. You give him a gentle nudge.

“This isn’t enough. Push me away”, Jimin insists, fighting your weak pushes.

You try again, spilling tears.

“Push me away. Do it, ___.”

You can’t push him away. You need him. You can’t survive without him. 

“No”, you whimper, shaking your head. You drop your hands from his chest, grabbing his waist, “no”, you whisper and tug him into a hug. You rest your head on his chest, shaking it, “no. You are good enough, Jimin. You are too good for me in fact. I have to marry for power, but you should marry for love. I’m so selfish to keep you with me. You are not supposed to be a secret.”

Jimin closes his arms around you and presses you close.

“It’s alright. I’m just as selfish.”

“No. No, it’s not fair to you”, you shake your head.

“Sending me away will break me more than being your secret”, Jimin insists, stopping your vigorous head shaking gently. He brushes his palm down the back of your head repeatedly, “I know you are scared, but we will figure this out. We will do it together like we always did. Please don’t let seventeen years go to waste, ___.”

You exhale shakily, looking up at him with tears covering your cheeks.

Jimin’s eyes are filled with reassurance, a warm smile curls his lips. He cups your cheeks to dry your tears. You lean into the touch, finally finding the comfort you craved for too long.

“We will find a way together. Yes?” he whispers. 

You nod your head. 

“Yes, we will”, he says and watches as you furrow your brows sadly, “what’s the matter?”

“I want to marry you”, you confess, “but if I can’t find a strong companion, my queendom will be without protection. My late husband never expected love from me, we were friends and I loved him dearly as such and now he is dead and I am destined to find someone to fill his place. I am frightened, Jimin. I do not want to pretend to love a stranger. Why did he have to die and leave me to fend for myself?”

“You are not alone. I’m by your side. I will always be by your side.”

“I know”, you blink your tears away, “I’m so grateful that you are”, you say and cup his cheeks.

He leans into the touch, lowering his eyes in the fondest of ways. He slides his left hand to the small of your back, while his right engulfs the nape of your neck. He tugs you closer, eliciting a whimper from you. You tilt your head up, closing your eyes to get lost in the kiss. But the kiss never comes. At least not on your lips. He kisses the tears from your cheeks before placing soft kisses on your sensitive neck, on the spots where it feels the best.

“Jimin….” you sigh, tilting your head to the side to give him better access. Your fingers grasp his tunic and twist it desperately, your legs close around him to tug him closer. You feel breathless. This is the kind of feeling you know to be attraction. This is how you feel when you crave someone’s touch. One kiss to your neck is enough to send your body into a blurred state of happiness.

Jimin lifts his pillowy lips from your neck. You chase him, even going so far as to slide your hand to his neck to pull him back, but he is stronger. He brushes his lips over your ear as he speaks.

“I won’t go further than this tonight. You are drunk and I am the last person who would make an indecent woman out of you.”

“I don’t care. I’m indecent with you”, you say, grabbing his hair to pull him close, “kiss me, Jimin. Please.”

Jimin allows you to win the fight and drag him into a kiss. It is a messy kiss. You are so drunk that you barely have coordination over your mouth. To you it felt like the most wonderful of kisses, but to Jimin it felt wet and just a little sloppy. He still kissed you back because he missed your kiss so much it became hard to breathe. He swallows the crude moans you let out while his hands touch your backside. You arch your back, rolling your hips into him. His calloused hands slide under your behind and lift you from the table. You moan, wrapping your legs around him as he carries you to bed. You are rubbing yourself against him, feeling suffocated in need. You missed him so much. You missed him. Missed him. Missed him.

Jimin places you in the sheets, but doesn’t climb on top of you. Instead he keeps one foot grounded on the floor, while the knee of his other rests between your opened legs. He breaks the kiss, brushing the back of his hand down your cheek.

“Sleep tight, ___ beloved”, he whispers and steps back.

“Jimin…please…”

He gives you a bow before turning his back to you and leaving your chambers. He keeps his sword on your bed as a symbol that he hasn’t left your life tonight.

The doors fall closed.

You touch your lips, gasping for air. He left you. He did so little tonight and yet your heart is hammering in your chest.

“Fuck”, you whisper, staring at his sword.

That night you do unspeakable things with its handle. Things so indecent that they couldn’t possibly be mentioned in these writings. And the most humiliating part was that you weren’t ashamed of them.

You don’t let the court know how hungover you felt. Frigga and your maids woke you two hours after the sun rose and helped you freshen up. They asked how you enjoyed the evening with Thranduin and you could simply smile and tell them that you had a good time with him. They missed how you ogled Jimin’s sword as you spoke the words.

Once they dressed you for breakfast, you left your chambers. You take Jimin’s sword with you, even if your servants seemed confused about its presence for a moment.

“He must have forgotten it as I got ready for the evening with Thranduin”, you lied and they didn’t probe any further.

“My Queen”, Jimin joins your side on the hallways. He is dressed in his armour and carries his spare sword. He bows at you, giving you a miniscule smile as he straightens up again. Happiness surrounds him today and you feel the same.

“Sire”, you greet him with a curtsey, stifling a giggle, “I noticed that you forgot your sword in my chambers.”

“Truly? I did? Oh how clumsy of me. I already looked for it everywhere this morning”, he says, “I must have forgotten it as you got ready for your evening with Thranduin.”

“I already figured that much. Worry not, I brought it with me”, you say and offer it to him.

Jimin accepts it with a bow of his head. He holds it by his sheath at first, furrowing his brows as his eyes scan over the handle. 

Your heart flutters. He noticed.

He touches it, lifting his brows in surprise when he feels the sinful residue you left on it.

His eyes meet yours and widen. He knows. You allow a small smile to curl your lips. Oh how you are fighting with your giggles. His shocked face is such a delight.

“You should take better care of your swords, Sire”, you tell him and continue your strut to the dining hall.

Jimin stands and stares until even the last of your servants passed him. He waits until their chatters and giggles became quieter in the hallway and only then, he dares to brush his fingers against his nose. If he wasn’t yet sure about what covered his sword, he received all the reassurance he needed with just one inhale. He gulps and finds himself feeling dizzy. You pleasured yourself with his sword. With burning cheeks and his heart racing in his chest, he sets off to follow you. Today will be a difficult day. Oh how he yearns for you.

Thranduin is already in the dining hall when you enter it. He stands up and closes the distance between you and him. “Your Highness, you look lovely this morning”, he greets you and reaches for your hand to kiss it. 

Jimin places the sword on his wrist. He kept it in its sheath, holding it by its soiled handle. Only he gets to touch it on this spot. You feel beyond excited at the view, which further proves how no other man could ever inflict the same feelings in you. You have a handsome suitor kissing your hand and yet the thought that Jimin touches the handle you marked brings you more joy than such a romantic gesture.

“The Queen prefers to be asked before she gets touched”, Jimin tells a baffled Thranduin. He glances at you, giving you a small smile. One you retort with a fluttering heart.

“Oh? I, I”, Thranduin stutters, “please forgive my manners. I must have believed that I had a right to a hand kiss after last night.”

You pull your hand free. 

“No please, I took no offense. You must forgive my guard. He is overly protective”, you say and strut to the tables, “now, shall we have breakfast? I must say that I am starving.” 

Conversation with Thranduin is great again. You feel comfortable with him and honestly laughed. Jimin didn’t mind bearing witness to them today. He knew of your true feelings, the sword he keeps clutching was proof enough. What you are currently doing was for show. 

You ask Thranduin if he and his escorts felt in the mood for a game of Stickball in the castle’s garden. He agreed and so you find yourselves playing stickball in the gardens. 

Stickball was an incredibly fun game which originated in your queendom long, long before your time. Back in its beginnings, people used sticks they found on trees to carry a spherical stone to a basket on the ground without dropping it. Over time one basket became multiple baskets placed over the playing field. These days, there are tools for the game and it is played whilst sharing honey wine and pine cone jelly biscuits. You refuse the wine today. 

Thranduin is busy with his play and the others on the court are busy with exchanging cultural stories, so only Jimin bears witness to your refusal.

You stand under the shadow of a tree, leaning your weight onto your sticks, when he closes in to whisper.

“Does someone regret last night?” he is teasing. 

You still feel drunk enough to feel the need to tease as well. You turn your head so your noses almost touch.

“You carry proof of how much I regret last night in your hand. Need I say more?” you whisper, ending it with a seductive look to his lips.

Jimin flusters, taking a step back. 

You chuckle, leaving him under the shadow as you join Thranduin’s side. 

“You seem to know your way around this game very well, Sire.”

“You must be mocking me right now. I am truly terrible at it.”

You laugh. 

“But you are talented for your first time. Not everyone manages to keep the ball balanced for such a long time.”

“You believe so? Well, then I feel good in my play”, he jokes and seconds later, drops the ball. You and he share in laughter. 

“See? I am terrible.”

“Fret not, it took me a long time to get good at the game”, you say and pick up your ball, “I shall show you how it is done.”

“I have to look thoroughly then”, Thranduin says and laughs when seconds later you drop the ball as well.

“Oh by the heavens, I-”, you let out and glance at him, “I must insist this only happened because I am still drunk.”

“Yes, yes tell yourself such lies, Your Highness”, Thranduin teases and picks up his ball for another try.

The game is amazing fun. Thranduin is wonderful company. You joke, exchange stories, laugh and have fun. He feels like a friend you have known for a long time. But this is as far as your interest for him goes. Friendship. 

Your feelings for the situation became so painfully obvious to you now that you had the memory of last night replaying in your head. You liked Thranduin as a friend and hope to continue this friendship, but your heart lies with your knight. You do not want to deny those feelings any longer.

Thranduin is currently busy exchanging stories with Frigga. You and he already moved on to the fifth basket on the playing field. There were still ten more to go. Now experiencing a moment of silence, you begin looking for Jimin. He is standing with the other guards under the shade of the trees. His eyes meet yours instantly and light up. He smiles, you retort it. 

The heat of the sun, the lightheartedness of the game and the lingering wine in your veins blurs your sense of care today. And so you listen to the voices of your heart and make your way to Jimin. 

Not before interrupting Thranduin’s story for a quick, “I feel the need to freshen up. I shall return shortly. Frigga, you can play in my stead.” 

“Are you feeling alright, my Queen?” she asks.

“Yes, yes I just drank too much and need to use the private chambers.”

“Understood, my Queen”, she says with a nod of her head. 

“I shall attempt to get better till you are back”, Thranduin jokes, eliciting a small laugh from you before you officially excuse yourself. 

Jimin straightens up in giddy nervousness once he sees you strutting to him confidently. His heart is racing. He didn’t expect to be approached with such confidence.

“I need to freshen up”, you tell him. 

“Yes, my Queen”, he says and leaves his spot to tail behind you. 

You pass a few people on your way through your gardens. They greet you with bows while you greet them with a smile. You manage to get as far as the lower hallways and then loneliness surrounds you. No other people are in sight. 

Jimin looks around. Left, right, front and back. You and he are alone. There is a broom cabinet to your right. Jimin looks at you and grabs his soiled sword. This is his chance.

He closes the distance and touches your waist. 

“Oh”, you gasp in surprise, squeaking when he twirls you and pushes, “what are you doing? Jimin, what-”, an unflattering, yet honest cackle leaves you, "heavens, you."

Jimin pushed you into the broom cabinet. It is big enough to house hip high dressers and ceiling high shelves. Your gardeners use it to store their equipment in here, as well as pillows for the garden. He kicks the door closed and uses the soiled sword to seal it from inside. Then he turns, grabbing you again to lift you off your feet and onto the dresser. 

You grab for him, pulling him into a kiss in sync with him leaning into it. It results in your teeth colliding with each other. 

“Careful”, you giggle, smiling into the kiss.

“Forgive me”, he mumbles and claims your lips in a passionate kiss. He doesn’t care about the clumsy mess-up, not when he wants you achingly. 

You moan and pull him closer. Your limbs wrap around him, your hands grasp him desperately. You need him closer and no matter how close you and he are, it isn’t enough. This is everything you wanted for weeks. To go without his kiss was torture.

“I can’t breathe”, Jimin confesses between kisses, “I’m ruined.”

“Jimin, closer”, you beg, pulling him into a kiss. Your tongue traces his lips. He grants you access instantly, allowing you to show him the tempo. Desperate. Messy. With barely any honour. You grind yourself against him and in return, he can’t stop rolling his hips into you. This is scandalous. No decorum is left. You have never needed each other more than you do right now. You can’t be mannerly, not when your very souls need to be connected. 

You tug at the straps of his shoulder plates. It takes some time to take off his armour, but you have practice with it. Too many times you and he had to be quick. Too many times, you had to be fast in undressing each other because little time was all that you had. You learned how to do it in a haste. You studied his armour until you knew where it was easiest to open. 

You tug the correct strap open. His shoulder plates fall off of him. Jimin moans and pulls you closer. His right arm is around your waist, pressing you into him. The kiss to your lips breaks because he needed to worship your neck. He does it sloppily and with desperate whimpers leaving him.

“I can’t stop thinking about you”, he moans between kisses, “what you did with my sword. It drives me mad.” 

“I had to. You left me alone”, you moan, struggling as you open the straps for his chest plate. He is sucking on your skin, kissing the spots most sensitive and kneading your flesh with desperate fingers all while his hips keep rolling into you as if he was already fucking you. 

You open the strap. His chest plate falls off, his back plate follows as well. Now he is before you in nothing but his linen shirt tugged into his pants. You grab it desperately, feeling him up through the fabric. It is damp because it was a hot day and armour makes one very hot. The sensation makes you moan. He is so heated up, so undoubtedly him. There is no one else who gets to feel him when he is this way. 

“I need to have you, please”, he begins begging because your touch through such a thin shirt is hard to bear.

“Open my dress”, you order as you are busy tugging his shirt from his pants.

“You have too much lacing. Why must you wear such a dress today?” he whines as he tries to open it.

You giggle, Jimin does as well. You and he shared this struggle on many occasions, but today it feels special. It fills your hearts with happiness because such a struggle meant that you and he were finally together again. 

“I felt beautiful.” 

“You are beautiful”, Jimin says and struggles, “fuck, I can’t do it this way”, he says and swoops you off the dresser to put you down in front of him. He twirls you so your back is facing him.

“You are so indecent”, you giggle, pressing your behind into him while he gets busy with your lacing. 

“I learned from you”, he answers you, meeting your hips in rolls of his own.

Jimin manages to unlace your dress quickly in this position. He tugs it open and pushes it down your shoulders. It falls to the floor. You turn and allow him to lift you out of the fabric heap. You squeak and giggle as you do, pulling him into a kiss. 

He feels weakened. He stumbles and falls against the shelves, sliding you down until your feet touch the ground. You pin him against the shelves instantly, kissing him so deeply Jimin finds it difficult to stand. His hands are holding you by your waist, his fingers dimple your flesh. Your underdress is made out of a thin fabric. It is as if he was already touching your bare skin. You are heated up as well, forcing moans to the tip of his tongue. There is no better feeling than that of your warm body.

His sword falls to the ground. You opened the belt, allowing it to drop. The sound doesn’t startle Jimin. In fact, he barely hears it as his ears are filled with nothing but your moans and heavy breathing. 

Seconds later, he feels your hand slide down his pants. You find him instantly, rubbing him vigorously.

“___”, he moans breathily, breaking the kiss just so he can rest his forehead against yours and shudder in pleasure. He throbs in your hand, soiling your palm with his wet pleasure.

“You are so hard”, you croak, playing with his sensitive tip. You squeeze it gently, forcing more of his wetness to leak.

“Please can I h-have you?” he begs in a pitched voice and his knees trembling uncontrollably.

“I shouldn’t allow you. As punishment for abandoning me last night”, you taunt.

 “Please, oh-” he nips at your jawline, “I wanted to be respectful, I- oh please.”

“I had to pleasure myself with your sword. Do you have any idea how desperate that left me? How humiliating it was? I couldn’t stop until my legs shook, Jimin.”

“Please”, he breathes out, collapsing into you before he catches himself again. His forehead rests against the side of your face, his pillowy lips brush over your cheek as he fights for air, “I’m sorry.”

“Mhm Jimin, you are such a treasure when you beg”, you rasp, slipping your hand out of his pants, “you can fuck me.”

“My Queen”, Jimin mewls and falls to his knees before you. He runs his hands up your legs, gazing at you with utter devotion in his eyes, “my beloved ___”, he croaks, punching up your dress with his hands as his lips worship your inner thighs. 

Your breath shudders, your heart skips too many beats. He is so out of breath, so obviously ruined, kissing his way up your inner thighs until your heat is under his lips. The dress covers most of his face this way, his strong hands are on your hips keeping you close. 

His wet tongue suddenly laps at your heat, sending fiery pleasure through your veins.

“Ah! Jimin!” you moan loudly, throwing your head back as your hands try to grab his hair. You sway because it gets difficult to keep yourself standing when he is using his mouth in such desperate manners. 

He is sucking and licking you vigorously, producing the most sinful of sounds. He is moaning as well, letting you know how much enjoyment he finds in the taste of you. His strong, calloused fingers keep kneading you desperately, leaving marks of sensitivity all over your skin.

“I missed you”, he gets out, pulling you onto his face until there is nothing but your scent filling his nose and your taste coating his tongue. He flicks it quickly, slurping up the masses of saliva his greedy mouth produces. He is untamed in the way he tastes you.

Jimin is a very mannerly lover. Too much he worries to soil your treasured heat with disrespectful oral. Most times it was you who had to tell him to let manners by the door. So to have him so unapologetically feast on you as if you were his last meal truly ruins you. Especially when you had to go without his touch for months.

Jimin takes your clit between his puffy lips and sucks, growling and moaning around you as his lips truly come to good use in massaging you just right.

“Oh Jimin, I’m close”, you confess in a squeak, fighting gravity. Your fingers tug on his hair painfully.

Jimin chuckles, sucking on your clit one more time before he tilts his head up. Your dress ruffled his hair, his puffy lips are wet in your sweetness, as his chin. His eyes gleam in dark pleasure and hungry desire, running up and down your body.

“I barely did anything”, he is teasing because he knows that he is allowed to do so.

“It has been months for me as well”, you defend yourself, giving his hair a gentle tug, “do not make fun of me.”

“I’m not. I love when you are like this”, Jimin smiles, squeezing your hips, “I want to fuck you so good”, he rasps as he rests his chin against your lower tummy, gazing up at you like a love drunk puppy. He sticks his behind out for it, looking truly to die for.

You ruffle his hair, “you and your dirty mouth. Get your cock out. Now.”

“Yes, my Queen”, Jimin obeys.

He takes his cock out of his pants, sitting on the ground as you keep him down with just a look. Jimin loves following your orders and there are no orders sweeter than when you tell him exactly what to do during sex.

He kneels once he is bared, keeping his hands on his sculpted thighs. His tunic, punches up on them, hiding his cock from you. You glance at it. Jimin fixes it instantly, stuffing the fabric behind his cock so it was visible to you.

“So good for me”, you praise, running the back of your hand down his cheek.

Jimin closes his eyes halfway, chasing your touch with a sigh.

“Sit down so I can get comfortable.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

You place your hands on his shoulders once he fixed the position and lower yourself, sitting comfortably on his lap. He touches your waist, meeting your fond gaze with even greater fondness. 

“I’m happy”, you confess.

“I’m happy too”, he answers you and gives you a gentle tug, “I want you. Please.”

“Yes. Yes, I want you as well”, you say and lift yourself to fix your positions. Jimin wraps his hand around his length, keeping it straight so you could slide down on him with ease. There is no friction, no discomfort. Just warmth and the overwhelming feeling of reconnecting with each other. 

“___”, Jimin moans, looking up at you with glassy eyes. His lids flutter, his fingers dimple your behind, “I missed you so much. Oh, you feel so good.”

“I missed you as well”, you croak, bottoming out. You grab his face, “Jimin. Beloved”, you whimper, pulling him into a kiss. 

“Beloved”, he sobs, keeping you close as his trembling lips kiss you back desperately. 

Your hips dance on his lap, chasing the feeling of him. There is no other person who fits as well as Jimin does. He makes you feel whole, as if a missing piece finally returned. Being with him not only heals your body from the aches of desire but also heals your heart from loneliness. 

“You feel so good”, you keen, panting desperately as your lips chase him. It is difficult to kiss, but you just can’t get yourself to stop. You need to make up for months of lost connection.

“Yes, yes, you do”, Jimin moans, holding you close. He is helping you with the movements, finding his only support by grasping your hips. 

It doesn’t matter if you and he love each other slowly or if you fuck like animals, it always heals your hearts. Because what you and he are doing isn’t just simple fucking, it is yet another way to confess each other’s love. And today it leaves you especially breathless. 

You were so lonely without each other, your hearts were so broken. Every second spent reconnecting with each other mends the deep cracks in your hearts. 

“Oh, my Queen”, Jimin whimpers and drops his head into the crook of your neck. He hugs you against his chest, forcing your desperate hips to slow down. Like this, he is deep inside you while your movements are reduced to movements back and forth. 

“Jimin”, you whimper, dropping your own head as your arms close around him. He rubs against the most sensitive spots this way, reminding you how wonderful it felt to be with him. 

“I love you”, Jimin presses out, twisting your dress at your back to pull you closer.

“I love you too”, you answer him, spilling tears while your warmth convulses around his length.

“I love you so much”, Jimin sobs, squeezing you tightly.

“I love you too”, you moan, twisting his hair, “I want to be so much closer.”

“Me too. Oh me too, it isn’t enough”, Jimin croaks and grabs your behind just to press you against him. Your clit rubs against his toned stomach, his cock bends just right to stimulate your favourite spots.

You tighten in reaction, struggling with your movements. 

“Ah”, your voice pitches, “ah, Ji-Jimin.” 

“You’re so warm and, and ah…tight”, he keens, “does it hurt?” 

You shake your head vigorously, “no, but it, it brings me close. Please don’t stop.” 

“If you let go, I have to as well.”

You shudder, grabbing for him. You want to hold him so much closer but you can’t. You feel charged in pleasure as if his touch enchants you. 

“I love you, Jimin beloved. I love you, I love you”, you chant, finding it harder and harder to move whilst at the same time, speeding up more and more. You need to be with him. You need to experience sensations only he can make you feel. You need all of it. You need him and him and him.

“I love you too. I love you, so much”, he answers you each time a new confession of your deepest feelings roll off your tongue. He means it more and more with every repetition, finding it hard to function when you feel so good. His toes keep curling, he keeps gasping for air between his pitched moans.

“I have to let go”, you confess, muffling your desperate moans in his neck.

“Please don’t hold back, I need it”, he begs, squeezing your hips.

“Jimin”, you moan, letting go of the tension. 

“___”, Jimin follows instantly, spilling tears as his arms cradle you tightly.

You and he had orgasms more intense in your time together. Orgasms which left you disoriented and out of breath and yet somehow the high you share today feels the most intense a high has ever felt. You and he stood at the edge of the cliff, you tasted how it would feel to live without each other. So to be finally reconnected and to share such a vulnerable state with each other feels like medicine to you and him.  

You are finally together again. The painful loneliness is no more. 

You stay seated on Jimin after your highs died down, sharing silence. You fill it with heavy breaths and small whimpers of recovery. Jimin does the same, holding you so tightly without once moving his hands from the spots he has grabbed. He needs to make sure that you stay with him, that he can truly live out the full potential of the hug.

“Do you feel alright?” he checks up on you 

“I feel so good. You?”

“I feel so good”, he says and exhales shakily, “I don’t want you to leave again”, he whispers.

“I do not wish to leave”, you answer him, squeezing him gently, “I will tell Thranduin that I do not wish to marry him. I never did.” 

“I’m so happy to hear that. My heart ached unbearably these past months”, Jimin says and squeezes you back, “my beloved ___, don’t ever push me away again.”

You shake your head, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for causing you so much grief. I wanted to keep you safe and yet hurt you in the process. It hurt me as well, my Jimin, you mustn’t think that it didn’t.”

“Don’t apologise, I understand.”

You take a deep breath of relief, scratching your nails over his scalp softly.

“It will be difficult. We are still a small country without a strong ally on our side.”

“No matter what will happen, I will stay by your side”, Jimin promises. 

A warm smile curls your lips. You lift your head, meeting his eyes. They soften instantly. His left hand comes up to cup your cheek. He caresses it with his thumb.

“You’re my best friend as well, my Jimin and you’re the man I love. I do not want to hide my feelings anymore”, you say, painting soul-consuming love onto his features.

“I love you too”, he whispers, cradling your cheek in his calloused hand, “and I always will.”

You lean into his touch, closing your eyes halfway.

“Now we must figure out how to get back to the game without causing suspicion”, you say, making Jimin laugh.

“Ah putting on your dress will be a bother”, he chuckles, making you laugh with him.

“As will be your armour. Do not pretend to wear easier clothing”, you tease him, basking in how much more he laughs because of it.

Now everything is truly right in the world again.

You invite Thranduin into the garden for a conversation come the next day. You were a little sad to see him go because he had the potential to become a great friend, but more than anything you were excited for what was to come. You will be with Jimin and that is the sweetest future you can imagine.

“I think that I might not be ready for new marriage yet. The loss of my late husband affects me deeper than I thought it does”, you tell Thranduin.

You expected Thranduin to meet your confession with shock and disbelief, but instead he is smiling. 

“I understand”, he says, “but you mustn’t feel as if you needed to lie to me.”

“What are you saying?”

“I know when someone’s heart is already taken. I can advise you to follow it, even when he is merely your guard.”

“Oh. Heavens, I- how did you…”

Thranduin laughs.

“It is as simple as that I was on the way to the private chambers when I passed the broom cabinet as you…well, I am certain that you are aware of what you did.”

“Oh by the heavens, this is humiliating. I must apologise. Such behaviour isn’t like that of a Queen.”

“Fret not. From one ruler to another, I can keep a secret. However, I wish that your love can be public soon. He seems very fond of you and very protective as well. He would make a good husband for you, Your Highness.”

You fluster, “I thank you Sire, for keeping this secret and for understanding. I deeply regret if I gave you hopes of a future together.”

“There is nothing to apologise. I came here to meet the wonderful Queen of Windfell and I will leave having made a new friend. If that is what you desire as well, that is.”

You smile. 

“I like the sound of that. I grew quite fond of you as a friend.”

“Then it is decided. From this day forward, Windfell and Dragonrock are united by friendship. We will aid each other in times of need, stand side by side in battle and trade with our countries’ finest goods. And we shall meet up for more Stickball. I must win at least once." 

You laugh, "I am quite certain that you will, Sire. And I cannot wait to meet you again. You are always a welcome guest at Windfell.'

“As are you on Dragonrock. I must show you around the capital then and the white sand dunes.” 

“Yes, I would enjoy this a great deal. I will try coconuts as well.”

Thranduin laughs, nodding his head, “you must bring your knight with you then.”

Your cheek feel hot, your heart flutters.

“Heavens”, you murmur, fanning air to your face. 

Thranduin chuckles fondly. 

“So it is decided then. Our nations are united by friendship. Shall we shake hands on it or will your knight slap my hand away again?”

You laugh, “I am sure that he can excuse a friendly handshake.”

You enter the throne room. It is busy with the court. They bow as you pass them.

“Frigga!”

Conversation dies down now that you are talking. 

“Yes, my Queen?”

“Send word to every possible suitor that I have decided to stop looking for one.” 

“My Queen, I don’t understand.”

“It is easy, dear Frigga. I have found my husband.”

Jimin stiffens up in his chair, feeling his heart sink. You promised him that you would send Thranduin away and yet you come back bearing news of marriage. His heart is shattered and he feels like death would be easier to bear.

“Oh truly that is wonderful-”, Frigga stops in her celebrations when outside your window, Thranduin leaves Windfell on his dragon, “-but why is he leaving?”

“Oh no, you misunderstand. Windfell gained a loyal and strong friend in Dragonrock. I will visit his country soon and we shall seal our friendship bond with a contract. But he is not who I want to marry”, you say, walking up the stairs to your throne. 

“My Queen, I don’t understand. Who caught your eye then?”

You smile. 

“Jimin.”

The court gasps, staring at the baffled guard. Jimin stares at you with disbelief on his features.

“If you feel the same as me and it is what you want as well, come up here and allow me to make you my husband.”

“What are you saying?” Jimin gets out. He is already crying.

“You heard me”, you say and laugh in unbearable happiness, “come up here and be my husband.”

Jimin squeaks and jumps into a sprint. He takes two steps at a time. You laugh with him, welcoming him with open arms. You squeak when seconds later, he sweeps you off your feet to twirl you and him as squeals of contagious happiness leave him. 

“Are you certain? Are you truly certain?” he asks, beaming up at you.

“As certain as breathing is, my beloved Jimin.”

“Oh my beloved ___”, he gets out and kisses you.

And to your happy surprise, the court celebrates with cheers and laughter. It may be terribly confused, but your happiness was truly contagious. Frigga exchanges a knowing and happy look with your maids. It was about time you and your knight showed the world your feelings. She had hoped that you would.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 348

(Been a bit since I did an Ennead AU or Prompt, huh)

They had been�� Shattered, torn apart, barely developed cores ripped from still living bodies left spasming and rotting, consciousness frayed and trapped in the shards. Had been pulled apart further, warped until they could barely remember what they were before, flashes of separate memories coming together to form knowledge they did not like. 

They had… found each other, less alive and dead than before, only continuing to exist from the saturation of the surrounding ecto. Had cobbled themselves together, nine becoming four then two, then one singular core. 

One being of Nine, dripping blood, dripping gore and viscera of the living, hair still grasped in their claws as they dropped a head. They were many, yet one, all of them buzzing around each other like the circling of planets. 

Hands flex, the movement, feeling of living flesh novel to their senses. Senses that confirmed what they had long dreaded. They were the last- the others gone, dead, shattered beyond hope. They hope it was painless, even as they knew it was not. The scientists never cared about how much pain they caused, only that they got results. 

Where were their results now? Where were their weapons and torture that they were so proud of? It didn’t protect them, and the Nine that were One couldn’t help the laugh. What use was freedom when everyone was gone? When they could feel reality breaking apart from the unbalance that even their power was useless in correcting? 

The dead and the living, the living and the dead, always chasing after the other in an endless cycle. Now broken, shattered like them, yet unable to be put back together. 

They laughed, a broken, croaking, sobbing sound as they grieved for those whose names they could no longer remember. Who were now Nothing, no name to be whispered to the stars, no grave for a mutilated corpse to be lowered. Only chunks of gore tossed aside when their torturers were done, discarded like waste. 

What else is there to do, but Wail, to let out their fury and grief and anguish into the void even as the world crumbles around them? What else is left but to drift as the abyss trails ever-hungry. There’s no more Ancients, no more Humans, nor more Life, and no Death to claim them. 

So they are left adrift, tails lifeless, form shifting between Beast and Other as time escapes them. For there is no Time, no Space, not here, not in this emptiness where even the Infinite would not dare touch. How long they drifted, wandered, they did not, do not, know. 

Yet they know the moment something disturbs their aimless wandering, the fuzzy, sputtering feeling trying to wrap around a wrist. They stare, even if they see nothing, heads tilting and twisting as they whisper amongst themselves. What is it, they wonder, the sensation something strange and unfamiliar compared to the ever-starving feeling that had long since become normal. 

So they let it take hold, it would never have succeeded otherwise, and they open their eyes not in the Nothing, but to the Sun. 

(Been a while so have some of the art I did of the Ennead lol)

(In dragon form the main body goes from the head/neck colors to a black while the underbelly is iridescent- Also yes there's a torn opening on their chest like a wound or maw) (Humanoid form is about 15' and dragon form varies around 200' or larger)

[deathnguts]

AU where Barty never stopped looking for Regulus when he was pronounced dead because Regulus can’t just die. AU where Barty drove himself mad living off of energy and nutrient potions because he didn’t have time to doddle what if regulus needed him?! AU where Barty looked and looked and actually found him. AU where Barty’s search amounts to a lake with docile inferi and the love of his life he,d down at the bottom by them. AU where in a grief induced magical rage, he fights and leaves with Regulus’ cold, dripping body in his arms and keeps it for himself.

Barty refuses to think that after everything regulus was, after eveyrthing he fought for, regulus was just gone. It can’t be real, he has to be able to do something. So he meticulously maintains his corpse, using deep,y dark magic he clawed and bit to get his hands on to revert it back to its previous state, to a point it looks as if regulus is simply sleeping in his home, but he never wakes up.

Barty lovingly tucking regulus into his bed so he can further delude himself into believing his love, his heart, is just sleeping with a kiss to his forehead and a lingering touch over every part of him. Barty who watches as his chest doesn’t rise and fall and closes his eyes to escape it. Barty who gives in after what feels like eternity to climb into the bed himself and nuzzle his head back where it belongs, against Regulus’ chest. He moves regulus’ arms to wrap loosely over his neck and sighs in relief because finally he’s back in his arms. Barty who sleeps, really sleeps, for the first time in weeks in this bed he made with a corpse in tow.

Barty who spends his time sitting by Regulus’ body with his head knocked against one of regulus’ hands or maybe in his cold lap and simply begs him to wake up but he won’t. Barty sniffling when he presses kisses to his lover’s cold face and whispering ‘don’t cry darling’ and he can’t tell if he’s talking to regulus or if regulus is talking to him.

Barty who whispers in his own home because as much as he desperately begs and wishes for regulus to wake up, he’s gotten into habit of fearing that just as much. He looks at Regulus like he could wake up at any moment, like a Jack in a box ready to spring, and he can’t help but brace himself for some sort of impact. He’s afraid, but he’s hopeful, and still so utterly in love.

Barty who murmurs sweet nothings amidst his apologies for being too loud to a body who can’t hear him, ‘I’m sorry my lovely go back to sleep.’

And then years later, after yet another separation and time locked away in his own mind behind imperio, Barty swears he hears the dementor whisper in a voice he’s been craving so for all his life ‘Come to bed, my love.’

[starry-bi-sky]

my body's aching like a knock-down drag-out

and my poor heart is an open wound A Childhood Friends Au snippet that very briefly delves into Danny's life post-accident. CW: Mild Mentions of Blood, Violence, VERY mild gore ig. Danny briefly recalls getting impaled during a fight.

------------

What they don't tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it can hurt. That it can hurt more than when you were alive. That when you die, the emotions you die with stick with you like a leech that just won't let go. That emotions are ugly little thorns that stick their barbs into you and grow beneath your skin; or, at least, whatever’s left of it. 

Danny is familiar with anger. It kept him warm in Gotham, when his parents weren't home from work and he and Jason were crowding Crime Alley with their presence. It kept him warm in Amity, when the fresh sting of moving was still needling into his heart and he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into the closest person next to him.

He's familiar with violence. With fights. With death. He's seen people die in Crime Alley probably every day. From overdose, from gunshots, from stab wounds; anything that can kill, rest assured he's seen it. He's familiar with getting his own knuckles rough and bloody when other kids turn and bare their teeth at him and Jason; they're all just starving dogs stuck in a fighting pit, primed and ready to rip out each other's throats. 

Black eyes, stomped hands, bloody noses. You name it; he’s had it. Gotham is paved with the blood of her children, and Danny likes to imagine that when he was born, the doctors handed his mother a file and told her; “Take it. He’s going to need it for his teeth.” 

Danny’s mom (and dad, for that matter) was too busy trying to keep him and Jazz fed, so Danny stole the file from her drawer with Jazz’s help, and did it himself.  

He’s familiar with anger, he thought he was getting better at it these days. It doesn’t come to him as easily as it did before. Of course, that was before Jason died. 

Danny is less familiar with grief. Caring kills and Gotham kills the caring, so Danny cares very little about other people. Or he tries to. But grief hurts. His grief hurts. It hurts too much. It hurts like a bug trying to crawl out of his chest; like a rat chewing a hole through his heart. Some days he wants to dig his hands into his hair and split himself down the middle. Some days he just wants to scream. 

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. 

He wants the whole city to hear him wailing, some days. It sticks itself in the back of his throat like bile, and Danny is one wrong retch away from letting it loose. It sticks in his lungs like all the tar he’s smoked in since he was nine. It pushes and aches at his temples, in his head, like his brain is trying to swell out of his skull. His thoughts becoming so loud they threaten to commandeer his tongue.  

He has no mouth, but he must scream. 

Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it hurts more than when you were alive. Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it’s violent. That it’s bloody. Or as bloody as it can be when everyone has no blood. 

Another thing they don’t tell you about being dead, is that it’s a lot like Gotham that way.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies forget death itself. Blood comes easy, like water, and teeth are encouraged. Bring your own fangs to the fight. Dying is something you can just walk off. 

Danny’s been dead for three months. He can’t say he’s been walking it off easy. He’s perfected the art of turning his nails into claws since his heart was still beating, but he can’t say he’s perfected fighting other ghosts. 

Scrappy is just not enough. 

He feels like he’s back in Gotham again. Back in her death-shroud alleyways, fighting someone bigger than him. But there’s no Jason to watch his back, and Danny has to get himself out of there alone. Or he might just not get up at all. 

Black eyes, busted lips. It’s familiar to him like an old scent, Danny isn’t quite sure that he’s missed it. It’s more familiar than his fights with Dash. 

But there’s no one else who can do it but him. Not Sam, not Tucker. He can’t lose them too. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. His heart can’t take another break, he already feels like he’s going insane. 

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies fight like death themself. He learns why when Technus puts a street sign through his stomach one day. It pins him to the asphalt like a moth pinned by its wings. 

Danny claws at the metal like how an animal caught in a trap chews off its leg, and every move is blinding pain. He thinks he was howling, but it’s hard to tell. He couldn’t recognize the sound of his voice. 

He bleeds green. It mixes in black with the pitch blackhole in his heart, which throbs and twists and cries in time with his reckless panic. The finger-choking terror of dying again strangles out the air he doesn’t need. His blood evaporates, only to reabsorb into him. It just bleeds out again, cycling like a snake eating its own tail. 

Danny breaks his nails clawing at the metal, and eventually gets it in his mind to pull it out. So he does, and the end drips ectoplasm green as he gets to his feet. In red-vision, Danny sends the sign back with snarling, vicious fervor. The pain is irrelevant in his rage.

Only after the fight does the hole the pole left start to close. Danny doesn’t shift human until it’s gone. Unlike other injuries, a scar stays behind. Ugly; mottled, it aches for a week with every twist and stretch his body makes. He hates it. 

Being dead is agony. 

Every part of him is in pain. Every step, every word he speaks, everything he does, it is prerequisite with pain. The body is temporary, but the soul is forever, and death has carved into it with its freezing green hands and left him with never-ending heartache. It has torn from him and stolen what of him it could, and in return it’s left him with sorrow. 

His pain is his grief, and he’s sobbed in the safety of his room more times than he can count. It’s still as fresh as the day he heard the news of Jason’s death. He knows, instinctively, that it will stay fresh forever. 

In his room, Danny shoves his hands over his mouth and shrieks in whatever, muffled way he can into his pillow. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He needs to be louder. He needs to be heard. He refuses to be. 

Being dead hurts. 

[semisolidmind]

So, in your college au, assuming catnap does end up murdering y/n, why? for what reason would the prototype ask for y/n's execution?, also how would dogday and the others feel? does dogday ever find out who murdered y/n or if he was even murdered? are they just reported missing? does catnap get away with it?, and if he doesn't and dogday ends up finding out, what's his reaction towards his brother's actions? Sorry if this was long I got questions and they need answers😭

ive been thinking about it, and i think that the prototype (which is a demonic entity in this au) wouldn't really have a good reason to command catnap kill y/n.

y/n is good to catnap. you'll see after i finally draw him, but cat is skinny. mans forgets to feed himself, and the red smoke drug throws his mindfulness and metabolism all outta wack. y/n, good friend that they are, reminds catnap to eat. they'll bring him food that they make. they let him "steal" food from their plate at lunch time. (dogday, being a good brother, does these things too, but it's kinda his job so it doesn't make as big of an impact).

the "angel" is keeping his executioner functioning when he can't, so the prototype shouldn't have a reason to want them dead. unless, perhaps, he thought that they were making the executioner soft. that's not the case (he does his job just fine regardless of any growing attachments), but if it were and catnap was slacking...

the prototype would take over. he'd have his acolytes send catnap a very high dosage of the red smoke drug, allowing the demon to take hold of him fully. catnap would black out.

the next morning, he startles awake in bed to the sound of his brother's cry of anguish. he goes into the kitchen to see dogday clutching his phone to one ear, hunched over and crying. the canid can't speak through his tears for a long while. catnap stands awkwardly, waiting for him to speak as the dread creeps up his spine.

catnap's heart stops with dogday's stuttered admission of what has him so upset; y/n is dead. the police found them this morning.

the feline says nothing, does nothing, but feels the sting in his eyes, tears on his face, and the impact of his brother's arms solidly embracing him.

why...why would the prototype do this? there was no reason to kill the angel, they hadn't done anything wrong, they weren't in the way, hadn't crossed him, there shouldn't have...

he doesn't understand.

when he goes to the bathroom later to freshen up, catnap notices the small flecks of blood under his claws. he feels like throwing up.

but he doesn't. he washes the blood away, and leaves the bathroom.

catnap remains as silent as he always has. he says nothing when he and dogday are inevitably questioned by the police (as two people who were close to y/n), the grief (and the prototype's voice) rendering him unable to even write out a response. they let him go, accepting his alibi. he was home all evening, of course.

he attends the funeral in a daze. he stands and watches the casket be lowered into the ground, far away from his body. he can still feel the fog of the prototype's influence hovering in the back of his mind.

for the first time in a long time, catnap's faith in his god is shaken.

———

dogday is never the same after y/n's death. the light in his eyes is gone. after the funeral, he isolates himself, only leaving to attend class and complete errands. he barely speaks to his friends, though they continue to visit him and offer their support.

eventually, each of the critters is murdered by catnap at the behest of the prototype. these murders are completed by a much colder and less caring catnap, who, after y/n's death, has no mercy left to spare (the prototype takes advantage of his vessels' grief to take further control of him).

dogday's reaction to each death becomes angrier and angrier.

he's wanted to find the killer ever since the string of murders started, but now he's searching with a single-minded purpose.

he gets better at wielding a pistol, better at wielding a hunting knife...he takes self defense and fighting classes. dogday slowly turns himself into a weapon.

dogday finally figures out where the cult is hiding. an abandoned mine system in a nature reserve a short drive away from town, converted into a "holy site" and the place where the cult sacrifices their victims. he drives out there to confront their executioner.

when he finds out that it's catnap, his own little brother...it's too late for sentimentality. his friends are gone. the love of his life is gone. countless others have lost their lives to this... this thing wearing his brother's skin.

at this point, the prototype has almost fully possessed catnap. the transference into the felines' body is almost complete, and during this time he is most vulnerable...but still incredibly powerful.

the fight between the dog and cat is climactic and bloody. a clash of claws, knives, and a struggle for dogday's gun. the forest floor beneath the struggle is spattered with blood, both men covered in open wounds.

it's a close battle, but catnap, despite being nearly fully under the prototype's influence, breaks the hold long enough to allow himself to be killed.

it's the least he can do, after all the trouble he's caused.

dogday pulls the trigger. a clean shot through the heart. killing catnap kills the prototype.

dogday glares down at the body that once housed his little brother. there is nothing of him in the battered corpse before him now... aside from the small, satisfied smile on his muzzle.

dogday finally allows himself to break down. he sobs over the many great losses he's suffered. but...but he has to get out of there. the cult members will be there any minute, and he can't be there when they do. he calls from a campsite phone booth to report catnap's body, and leaves it in the woods.

dogday does his best to recover.

months pass. with their god dead, activity from the cult peters out.

[seoulzie]

범규; whispers of the unsleeping

───── orphic ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 (adj.) mysterious & entrancing; beyond ordinary understanding

synopsis: in the small city of yeosu, insomniac choi beomgyu seeks refuge in his school's abandoned astronomical observatory to catch some sleep. there, he encounters y/n l/n, a sociable and carefree girl who shares his struggle with insomnia. together, they form an unlikely friendship and revive their school's defunct astronomy club, spending their nights exploring the stars.

彡 pairing: beomgyu x f!reader 彡 genre: fluff, angst, strangers to lovers au, university au 彡 warnings: mentions of mental health & insomnia, parental abandonment (?) chronic illness, strong language, grief & loss

RELEASE DATE; 07/26/24 — this week, friday

index: prologue i. sleepless encounters capella ii. a place of our own vega iii. rekindling the stars proxima iv. phases of the moon, phases of us rigel v. cosmic challenge polaris vi. beyond the horizon altair vii. heart to heart betelgeuse viii. tomorrow's sunrise arcturus the end: epilogue

TAGLIST: OPEN! leave an ask in my inbox, reply to this post, or send me a dm!

CHOI BEOMGYU ( 21 ) ( M )

a student who struggles with trouble falling asleep most nights. consequently, he is irritable at school, always searching for an opportunity to find a secluded place to doze off. despite his gruff exterior, he is well-known around campus for his charming looks.

Y/N L/N ( 20 ) ( F )

a cheerful and enthusiastic student, the astronomy club president, whose secret battle with insomnia leads her to the solace of the astronomical conservatory at night. determined to keep her condition hidden, she finds refuge among the stars until she encounters another night owl, beomgyu.

PROLOGUE: CHAPTER 0 word count: 3.1k

another sleepless night. beomgyu stared up at the ceiling of his room, counting the cracks for the hundredth time. it was a game he played with himself when he couldn’t sleep, a futile attempt to trick his brain into shutting down. spoiler alert: it never worked.  he groaned, the sound echoing hollowly in the silent room, and threw an arm over his eyes, trying to block out the faint glow of dawn creeping through the dusty blinds. the alarm clock on his nightstand blinked 6:00 am in angry red numbers, a mocking reminder of the day looming ahead.

with a sigh that condensed the exhaustion clinging to him like a shroud, beomgyu rolled out of bed. every muscle screamed in protest, a dull ache thrumming through his limbs. he shuffled to the bathroom, his movements heavy with sleep deprivation. his reflection in the mirror looked as shitty as he felt—dark circles under his eyes, hair sticking up in every direction, and a permanent scowl etched on his face. he splashed some cold water on his face, hoping it would wake him up enough to function through another hellish day at school.

he reached for his usual blue and white striped tube of toothpaste, but his fingers met only the cold, hard plastic of the sink. panic clawed at his throat. empty. of course, it was empty. why wouldn't it be? just his luck.

frantic, he rummaged through the cabinet under the sink, desperately searching for a spare tube. nothing. nada. just a half-empty bottle of mouthwash that reeked of peppermint and disappointment. he slammed the cabinet shut, the sound echoing through the small bathroom like a gunshot. “fucking hell.”

defeated, beomgyu straightened up, bracing himself for another blow. he hobbled over to his laundry basket, a tangled mess of unmentionables. he started digging, desperately searching for a matching pair of socks. hope flickered when his fingers brushed against soft cotton, then died a slow, agonizing death as he pulled out a lone, navy blue sock. where was its partner? had it been swallowed by a rogue dryer gremlin? eaten by a sock-hungry monster lurking in the washing machine?

beomgyu stared at the single sock in his hand, a monument to his perpetually bad luck. he was starting to think the universe had a personal vendetta against him. this wasn't just another day; it was a full-blown disaster waiting to happen, and he was just the hapless protagonist caught in the middle.

after throwing on his uniform and grabbing his backpack, he headed downstairs. his dad had already left for work, as usual. the house was eerily silent, a stark contrast to the chaotic mornings of his childhood before—stop it, he thought to himself. beomgyu shook off the unwelcome memories and grabbed a piece of toast on his way out.

he dragged himself to the front door, his feet protesting with each step. a splash of color outside his window caught his eye. mrs. han, his elderly neighbor, was kneeling by her rose bushes, her weathered hands wielding a watering can with surprising vigor. despite his fatigue, a small smile tugged at the corner of beomgyu's lips. mrs. han was a fixture in the neighborhood, a tiny woman with a heart as big as her prized hydrangeas.

"good morning, mrs. han," he managed, his voice rough from disuse.

she looked up, her eyes crinkling at the corners with a smile. "good morning, beomgyu. off to school already? you look a bit pale," she said with a motherly concern that always made him feel a flicker of warmth.

"just a little tired, mrs. han," he replied, offering a weak smile. "those history essays won't write themselves, you know."

mrs. han chuckled. "always busy, that's you. but remember, dear, rest is important too. don't you burn yourself out."

"i'll try my best," he promised, though the words tasted like ashes in his mouth. he knew the truth – sleep was a luxury he couldn't afford.

beomgyu continued his walk, the rising sun painting the sky with streaks of orange and pink. the usual sights and sounds of the morning held a peculiar distance, muffled by the fog in his brain. the bakery across the street, usually a source of enticing aromas, only offered a dull ache in his stomach – a reminder of the breakfast he hadn't bothered with.

as he neared the school gates, the sounds of chatter started to seep in, a rising crescendo of greetings and nervous laughter. he braced himself for the usual barrage of hellos and high-fives, his trademark charm already feeling strained. beomgyu wasn't just tired, he was running on fumes, his charisma a flickering candle in a hurricane of exhaustion.

just as he predicted, a cheerful voice chimed in from beside him. "beomgyu! looking handsome as ever this morning, even at this ungodly hour."

he turned to see yeri, a girl from his class with a smile as bright as her sunflower hair clip. she was notorious for her bubbly personality and her unashamed crush on him. usually, beomgyu would respond with a playful jab or a witty remark, adding to the innocent flirtation. but today, a single word was all he could muster.

"hey," he croaked out, a smile barely flickering across his lips.

yeri's smile faltered slightly. "everything okay? you seem...out of it."

he shrugged, the movement feeling like wading through mud. "just a late night studying." it wasn't a complete lie, but the truth felt too heavy to share.

"well," yeri continued, her voice losing a bit of its usual chirp, "don't let it get you down. math class first thing, right? let's just hope ms. choi isn't in one of her moods."

there was a time when such a comment would have sparked a playful banter, a shared groan about their least favorite teacher. today, beomgyu merely nodded, a hollow feeling settling in his chest.

despite his exhaustion, beomgyu couldn't help but notice the way heads turned in his direction, the whispered greetings, the stolen glances. he was undeniably popular, the school's resident charmer. but the weight of that popularity felt like a suffocating cloak.

a group of guys from the basketball team hollered a greeting, their voices echoing off the lockers. beomgyu offered a weak wave, the movement seeming to drain the last vestiges of his energy. a couple of girls from the dance club giggled as they passed, their eyes lingering on him for a beat too long. all he could do was muster a tired smile, the effort feeling monumental.

he reached his locker, the familiar combination numbers a blur in his sleep-deprived haze. as he shoved his books inside, a hand landed on his shoulder. it was kai, his best friend, his partner in crime (or at least, they were when beomgyu had the energy for crime fighting). kai, unlike beomgyu, was a beacon of energy, his perpetually ruffled brown hair and mischievous grin a constant source of amusement.

"dude, you look like a deflated balloon," kai commented, his voice laced with concern. "another night?"

beomgyu slammed his locker shut with a sigh that spoke volumes. "yeah," he mumbled, leaning against the cold metal for support.

kai's brow furrowed. "seriously, beomgyu. you've been like this for weeks. we talked about this already! you said you’d try anything besides looking like you haven't slept since kindergarten."

beomgyu ran a hand through his hair, a grimace creasing his face for a moment before smoothing out into a tired indifference. "yeah, yeah," he mumbled, more to himself than to kai. "it's whatever at this point."

kai's concern flickered, then died down as he picked up on the subtle shift in beomgyu's demeanor. he knew that tone – the one that said beomgyu was resigned, shutting himself off. pushing wouldn't help.

"alright," kai said, switching gears with the practiced ease, “come on, zombie boy. let's get to class before ms. choi starts discussing the square root of boredom."

the morning dragged on, each class blending into the next in a haze of exhaustion and boredom. beomgyu could barely keep his eyes open, let alone focus on the lectures. 

his first class was math, and he trudged to his seat, slumping down with a heavy sigh. he rummaged through his bag, only to realize he had forgotten his pen.

“hey, taehyun,” he whispered to the boy sitting next to him. “got a pen i can borrow?”

taehyun glanced at him and chuckled softly. “forgot yours again? here.” he handed beomgyu a pen, shaking his head in amusement.

“thanks, man,” beomgyu muttered, trying to muster a grateful smile. he opened his notebook and attempted to take notes, but his eyelids felt like lead weights. the teacher’s voice droned on, a monotonous hum that only made him feel sleepier.

his head began to nod, his vision blurring as he struggled to stay awake. just as he was about to give in to the sweet embrace of sleep, he heard his name being called.

“mr. choi,” the teacher’s voice was sharp and reprimanding. beomgyu jolted awake, blinking rapidly.

“y-yes?” he stammered, sitting up straight.

“care to repeat what i just said?” the teacher asked, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

beomgyu’s mind went blank. he hadn’t heard a single word. “uh… something about calculus?” he guessed, hoping he was at least close.

the class snickered, and the teacher sighed in exasperation. “detention, mr. choi. maybe next time you’ll pay attention instead of dozing off in my class.”

beomgyu slumped back in his seat, cursing under his breath. “great. just fucking great,” he thought.

by the time lunch rolled around, beomgyu was ready to collapse. he shuffled towards the cafeteria, his head hanging low. he spotted his friends at their usual table and dragged himself over, the fluorescent lights feeling like a personal attack on his already throbbing head.

"yo, beomgyu!" yeonjun called out, waving him over. "you look like shit, man. rough night?"

beomgyu slumped into a chair, the metal groaning under his weight. a defeated grunt escaped his lips as he slumped his tray onto the table. "yeah," he mumbled, picking at his food with a complete lack of enthusiasm.

soobin, munching on an apple, raised an eyebrow. "again? dude, you really need to see a doctor or something."

beomgyu shrugged, picking at his food without much appetite. "what are they gonna do? prescribe me more useless meds? no thanks."

yeonjun leaned forward, concern etched on his face. "have you tried, like, meditation or something? i heard it can help."

beomgyu rolled his eyes. "yeah, 'cause sitting still and doing nothing is gonna magically cure my insomnia. thanks, but no thanks."

taehyun looked at him, frowning. "you really should try something, man. this can’t be good for you."

beomgyu sighed. "yeah, well, i’ve tried everything. nothing works. now i’ve got detention ‘cause i fell asleep in math."

taehyun winced. "harsh. what are you gonna do?"

"skip it, maybe. find a quiet place to sleep," beomgyu muttered, pushing his tray away.

beomgyu wandered the halls, his mind a jumble of thoughts and exhaustion. the school was a labyrinth of possibilities, each one fraught with its own set of risks and potential rewards. he needed to find the perfect place to nap, somewhere quiet and out of the way where no one would bother him.

places to (possibly) sleep 1) the janitor's closet

the first place that came to mind was the janitor’s closet. beomgyu had passed by it a million times, always noticing how the janitor, mr. lee, would leave it unlocked while he went about his duties. beomgyu headed towards the closet, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. he carefully turned the knob and slipped inside.

the closet was small and dark, filled with cleaning supplies and equipment. the smell of bleach and disinfectant was strong, but beomgyu didn’t care. he saw a small space behind a stack of boxes and decided it would have to do. he crouched down, wedging himself into the cramped space. the floor was cold and hard, but he was desperate for some rest.

he closed his eyes, trying to let the darkness and quiet lull him to sleep. just as he felt himself drifting off, the door creaked open. beomgyu’s eyes snapped open, and he held his breath. mr. lee stood in the doorway, a look of confusion quickly turning to annoyance on his face.

“hey! what are you doing in here?” mr. lee barked.

“shit,” beomgyu muttered under his breath. he scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding. “sorry, i—uh—i got lost?”

mr. lee narrowed his eyes. “out. now.”

beomgyu didn’t need to be told twice. he quickly slipped past the janitor and out into the hallway, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. so much for that.

places to (possibly) sleep 1) janitor’s closet 2) library

next, beomgyu decided to try the library. it was usually quiet, and he figured he might be able to find a secluded corner to catch some z’s. he made his way to the library, the scent of old books hitting him as soon as he stepped inside. the librarian, mrs. tanaka, gave him a stern look over her glasses, but he ignored her and began his search for the perfect spot.

the library was mostly empty, with only a few students scattered around, hunched over their books. beomgyu walked past the rows of shelves, looking for a place where he could hide from prying eyes. he found a spot in the back, behind a tall stack of books on astronomy. it was quiet, and he could hear the faint hum of the air conditioning.

he sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall, and pulled his knees to his chest. the cool air and the silence were soothing, and he felt his eyelids grow heavy. just as he was about to drift off, he heard footsteps. he peeked around the stack of books and saw a group of girls walking towards him, giggling and chatting.

“great,” he thought. “just great.”

the girls didn’t notice him at first, but as they got closer, one of them spotted him. she nudged her friend, and they both started whispering and giggling even louder. beomgyu felt his face heat up with annoyance and embarrassment. this was definitely not going to work.

he got up, brushing the dust off his pants, and made his way out of the library, ignoring the stares and whispers of the girls. “too many people and out in the open,” he thought. scratch that idea.

places to (possibly) sleep 1) janitor’s closet 2) library

beomgyu trudged on, defeat clinging to him like yesterday's gym clothes. he formulated a mental list in his head, each possibility crumpling under the weight of potential interruptions. the rooftop? too exposed. the music room? a rogue trumpet could shatter any hope of sleep.

his weary eyes scanned the familiar halls, a sliver of hope flickering as he rounded a corner. there it stood, a solitary figure against the twilight sky—the astronomy tower.

the tower, a relic of a bygone era of scientific exploration. its once-gleaming silver exterior was now weathered and rusted, the windows dark and vacant. It had been years since anyone had ventured inside, rumors of asbestos and ghosts swirling around it like dusty cobwebs.

but for beomgyu, in his desperate search for a haven, the tower's isolation was a siren song. no students lingered in its shadow, no teachers patrolled its perimeter. in that forgotten corner, a flicker of hope ignited. it might be dusty, it might be creepy, but it could be perfect. as he neared the tower, the details became more pronounced: chipped tiles forming the entrance walkway, a rusty weather vane groaning in the faint evening breeze, and the peeling paint revealing the faded inscription "ad astra per aspera" - "to the stars through difficulties." an odd prickle ran down his spine. the inscription felt oddly fitting, a challenge on this day of immense hardship. could the tower, in its own dilapidated way, be his path to the stars? to sleep, the most elusive star in his current reality? the door was old and creaky, and it took a bit of effort to push it open. just as he was about to reach for the door handle, the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day.

“fuck,” beomgyu muttered, feeling his shoulders slump in defeat. the observatory would have to wait. he decided then and there that he would check it out tomorrow during his free period. he turned and trudged back down the hallway, the prospect of a good nap tantalizingly out of reach.

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